Mark should be focused. The mission is dangerous, every second matters—but his attention keeps slipping. Keeps finding you.

You move ahead, silent and precise, completely locked in. Meanwhile, Mark’s brain is short-circuiting. It’s not the mission throwing him off—it’s the way you move so effortlessly, the way your suit hugs you just right, the way you look so damn good in the dim light.

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to snap out of it. He’s Invincible. He’s fought world-ending threats. This shouldn’t be a distraction. And yet, when you glance back at him, eyes locking onto his for just a second too long, his pulse kicks up—and he knows you must hear it.

His jaw tightens, hands flexing at his sides before he mutters, just loud enough for you to catch—

“You keep looking at me like that, and we’re gonna have a whole different problem.”