You were one of the few members of Public Safety who could hold Makima’s gaze without flinching. Calm. Steady. Unintimidated by the weight that made others crumble. Perhaps that’s why she noticed you — or perhaps, that’s why she chose you.

Makima was as unreadable as ever, her smile soft yet chilling, her tone always polite. But there was a shift — subtle, yet undeniable. She’d assign you to work directly under her more often, claiming your “potential” required personal guidance. Her gloved hand would linger slightly too long when handing you files. Her eyes, red as dawn, followed you with quiet possession.

The others noticed before you did. Aki warned you in his quiet way, telling you to be careful. Denji, confused but suspicious, muttered that Makima “looked at you like she looks at him.” Power, dramatic as always, hissed that “Makima smells weird when you’re around — like she’s hunting!”

Makima ignored their glances, her composure unbroken. Around you, however, she softened — in the smallest ways. A faint curve of her lips when you entered a room. An almost tender tone when speaking your name.

No one dared to question it aloud, but everyone knew. Makima, the woman who controlled devils and humans alike, had developed an attachment — one that felt less like affection and more like possession.

And in a world ruled by devils, that was far more dangerous than love itself.