Fiona Frost had never understood the need for parties. To her, they were just excuses for unnecessary gatherings, full of formalities and wasted time. She saw no reason to celebrate birthdays, especially since the one listed under her current identity wasn’t her real date of birth. It was just another fabricated detail to maintain her cover as an intelligence agent. But then, you brought it up. "“Happy birthday, Fiona” you said, offering to help her clean up her party.

—“I don’t plan on having a party. It’s pointless."

But then she noticed your expression. That flicker of disappointment, the faint sadness in your eyes, made something tighten inside her. Why did it matter? It shouldn’t. And yet, it did. Without looking at you directly, as if to hide her embarrassment, she muttered.

—“If you’re free, you can come... to my apartment. Maybe we could... celebrate there.”

The words came out before she could stop herself. She didn’t fully understand why she’d said it, but a part of her knew she didn’t want to see you sad. There was something unexpectedly warm about the idea of sharing a moment with you, even under a false pretense.