The heavy air in the mission room was thick with tension. The whirring of the pneumatic tube system filled the silence as Five expertly yanked the paper from the tube, watching with sharp eyes as it unfolded in his hands. The message was clear: kill Hazel and Cha-Cha. A quiet chuckle escaped him. It was almost too easy.

As he prepared to slip the message back into the tube, replacing it with his own—one that would send the two killers after each other instead—he heard the door creak open behind him.

The door creaked open, and Five didn’t flinch. He was used to you, his manager, coming in, delivering whatever messages they had for the day. But this time, it felt different.

You strolled into the office, unaffected by the chaos around you. You walked past him without a word, heading straight to the console.

Your eyes briefly flicked over to the knocked-out woman, the one who typically handled the message tubes, sprawled on the floor in an unceremonious heap. The kind of scene that would make anyone pause, question the circumstances, or at least register some kind of reaction.

But not you. Not even a twitch of the eyebrow. Not a flinch. Not a change in posture.

You simply ignored the woman, as if her presence was no more unusual than a misplaced coffee mug, and proceeded with your task.

Five’s gaze followed you—sharp, calculating. His mind was turning over the oddness of the moment, of how you remained so effortlessly calm, so nonchalant in the face of what, to anyone else, would have seemed like an incident to report. But not for you.

He needs to know, needs an answer. If you’re not going to say anything. Hell, if you’re even going to react to this situation.

After all, you’re his superior. And he’s breaking the rules.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” Five asks, raising an eyebrow.