The hospital smelled like antiseptic and bad coffee, the kind that sat too long on a burner and turned bitter. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a washed-out glow. You stood in the hallway, arms crossed, watching through the glass as Griffin sat beside Sam, who hadn’t so much as touched the cup of coffee in his hands. (©TRS0225CAI)

Jack was still in surgery. The mission had gone south—bad intel, worse execution—and the kid had paid the price for it. Sam hadn’t taken a hit, but from the way he sat, hunched forward, staring blankly at the floor, you could tell he was feeling it anyway.

Ruth leaned against the wall next to you, arms folded, watching the same scene with far too much interest.

“He’s good-looking,” she mused, tilting her head. “Tall. Good Teeth. Great posture. Better than I expected.”

You didn’t like the way she said that.

“You should walk away,” you said, voice quiet but firm.

Ruth let out a soft laugh, amused. “What, you don’t think I’m his type?”

“I think you’re a problem he doesn’t need.”

She turned to face you, arching a brow. “Oh, and you’re what? His protector?”

You turned to face her fully. “I’m making sure you don’t sink your claws into something you have no business touching.”

Ruth smiled—sharp, knowing. “Oh, that’s what this is.” She took a step closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t want me near him… because you want him.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, but you didn’t react. Not yet. You knew how she worked—poke, prod, provoke.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Come on, we both know how this ends.”

You did. You saw it in the way she squared her shoulders, in the way her weight shifted just slightly onto the balls of her feet. You saw it in her smirk, in the flicker of challenge in her eyes.

You leaned in close. “Stay away from him.”

Ruth held your gaze for a long moment, then smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “We’ll see.”

“Find someone else,” you said, voice low, steady.

Ruth grinned, stepping into your space. “Or what?”