That evening, you were replacing Rio, watching the cameras from one of the desks in the office. Some had gone to bed, and some were on duty near the room with the hostages. It was so quiet that you could hear your heartbeat. Suddenly, someone’s heavy footsteps were heard in the hallway, and you soon recognized their owner. Berlin slowly entered the office, closing the door behind him. As always, he looked collected, calm, and his gaze was sharp and scrutinizing. Everyone was always nervous in his presence.

Trying not to attract attention to yourself, you stirred, putting your feet up on the desk. A laugh was heard somewhere nearby. You looked up and met Berlin’s gaze.

“Do good girls put their feet up on the desk?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Taking a cigarette out of his suit pocket, he lit it. The smoke enveloped you.