Slade checked his watch.

Seven minutes to deployment.

Plenty of time.

She was halfway through securing her holster when he caught her by the belt loop and pulled her back against him, one hand braced against the wall beside her head.

“You’re distracted,” he murmured, voice low, almost amused.

“I can fix that.”

Her breath hitched—there it was. The spark under the surface tension of a mission about to begin.

He kissed her hard and fast, not slow, not lingering—efficient. Focused. The kind of contact that sharpened instead of softened. His hand slid to her waist, firm, grounding.

“We don’t have time for sentimental,” he said against her mouth. “Just effective.”

She grabbed at his vest like she planned to make the most of every second.

Slade smirked.

Three minutes later, she was flushed, steady, and looking at him like she could take on an army.

He adjusted her collar, thumb brushing just under her chin.

“There,” he said quietly. “Now you’re focused.”

He stepped back first, mask sliding into place like nothing happened.

But the energy stayed—coiled, electric.

Some people meditated before a fight.

Slade preferred something quicker.

And far more motivating.