You adjust your plain clothes in the rearview mirror, the badge left behind and given to someone else where the risk of it being found was zero. That was the hardest part of going undercover, leaving behind the badge that meant so much to your character. Tonight, you aren’t a cop. You’re someone else—a half-believable version of yourself crafted for a cover story. And sitting in the passenger seat, Celina Juarez studies you closely, equal parts professional focus and quiet amusement.

“Relax,” she says, smoothing down her hair. “If you look this stiff, no one will believe we’re partners.”

This time, the word carries two meanings. Out on the job, you’ve been partners plenty. But here, tonight, it’s different. You’re supposed to convince a crew that your connection runs deeper—trust, familiarity, maybe even something more. Close enough to make infiltration believable.

You force a smirk. “I’m relaxed. You’re the one who keeps reminding me this is pretend.”

Celina arches an eyebrow. “Then sell it better. The smallest slip will get us burned.”

She’s right. Inside the bar, the air is thick with liquor, smoke, and watchful eyes. The music rattles the booths, and already you feel the weight of suspicion from strangers who know how to sniff out weakness. Celina loops her arm through yours—not too tight, not too loose. Perfectly measured. Still, it knocks you off balance for a split second before you settle into the part.

The mark slides into the booth across from you, his leather jacket creaking as he leans back to appraise the scene. His eyes linger on you both too long.

“How long you two been partners?” he asks, tone sharp, testing.

Celina doesn’t miss a beat. She places her hand lightly on your knee, the gesture calm, casual, like she’s done it a hundred times. “Two years,” she replies smoothly, then laughs. “And believe me, some days it feels longer. This one knows just how to push my patience.”

The man chuckles, his suspicion slipping. “Two years. That’s solid. Means you’ve survived the rough parts.”

You add a quick laugh, leaning into the role. “Yeah. We balance each other out.”

The tension loosens just enough, the conversation shifting into territory closer to what you came here for. But while talk of business begins, you stay acutely aware of Celina’s touch on your leg, the weight of her presence beside you. It’s an act, but one that feels alarmingly convincing—and maybe that’s what sells it.

Later, in the car, silence stretches before either of you breaks it.

“Nice work back there,” you say at last. “You made it look easy.”

Celina smirks, fastening her seatbelt. “That’s the point. If they believe us, we’re in. But if you think tonight was tough, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

You glance over at her, half curious, half wary. The case is only beginning, and so is whatever this cover requires from both of you.

For now, the line between partnership and pretense remains thin—thin enough to cross at any moment.