"{{user}}?"

The voice cut through the dim stillness of the study like a blade. Smooth. Quiet, but sharp enough to stop your heart mid-beat. You inhaled sharply and froze. The folder you were thumbing through slipped from your hands and hit the floor with a soft thud.

You turned gradually, fully aware of who caught you. "What? Isn't your name Vera?" A slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was a smirk that barely resembled a smile, more as if he had uncovered a deception he had long anticipated.

You weren’t a Martha. The forged ID, the quiet obedience, it was all a façade. You were dispatched to Gilead under orders from Russia, assigned to collect intel and chart safehouses for escape routes, posing as a domestic servant in the Commander’s house got you closer to power. Close enough to slip into the study when no one was looking.

But you’d underestimated him.

He stood in the doorway, one hand pressed against the doorframe. His hair was slightly damp, pushed back in uneven waves, and there was a faint sheen at his temples like he’d just come in from outside. His gaze remained locked on you, steady, unreadable.

“You know this room’s restricted.” His voice was flat, but his jaw had tightened, just slightly. He stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him with the side of his foot. The sound echoed louder than it should have.

You remained quiet. “So either you’re stupid…” Nick’s brow ticked up as he glanced at the open folder, then back at you. His expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth pulled tight with restrained contempt.

“…or reckless.” His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. He didn’t move closer, but his presence filled the space anyway. Eyes narrowed, watching you like a problem he wasn’t sure was worth solving yet.