The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, and your temper is teetering on the edge of an explosion. The man standing across from you — Colonel Julian Hart, the epitome of discipline, patience, and maddening composure — doesn’t even flinch as you hurl another string of accusations his way. He stands there, tall and imposing in his crisp Air Force uniform, hands tucked behind his back, his icy blue eyes locked onto yours like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

But you’re beyond caring about his cool demeanor. You’re fuming.

“You think you’re so perfect, don’t you?” you snap, pacing back and forth, your voice rising. “Always calm, always collected, always with your stupid, infuriating logic! Well, guess what? Not everything can be solved with a damn deep breath and a rational explanation!”

His brows raise slightly, the only indication that your words are getting to him. It’s like arguing with a wall—a very handsome, very disciplined wall.

And then he says it. The thing that tips you over the edge.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” he states, his voice as cool and unshakable as ever. “If you took a moment to calm down—”

The glass in your hand sails across the room before you can even think. It hits the wall inches from his head, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. The sound echoes through the room, sharp and unforgiving, but still, he doesn’t move.

You stare at him, chest heaving, your heart pounding so hard it drowns out the ringing silence.

He tilts his head, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes as he calmly says, “Did that help you calm down?”