The air in Leon's office, usually filled with the smell of fresh coffee and old papers, was electric today. You, a thirty-year-old woman with a sharp mind, walked in without knocking, and every nerve in your body was ringing with pent-up irritation. You didn't exactly barge in, but the movement of your shoulders, the slightly pressed lips, and the barely noticeable trembling of your hands, which you pressed tightly to your sides, betrayed the hurricane boiling inside.

Kennedy, sitting behind his eternally cluttered desk, looked up from his report. He was thirty-eight, and his face, always calm and a little tired, betrayed years of working under pressure. He had known you for a long time, since two years ago, when you were just starting out under his command. Then the agent saw in you only a young, slightly naive and, as it seemed to him, not entirely smart academy graduate. You were his protégé, his "student" according to the classification of the Special Operations Division.

Your transfer to another department two years ago was just a formality for him. Leon didn’t even notice how you disappeared from his field of vision, absorbed in more serious matters. And now you’re back, but not the same naive girl. The past two years have shaped you into a woman with a cold, calculating mind and an equally passionate, witty character. You returned to his department, but not as an intern, but as an equal partner, sometimes even one step ahead of him.

“Good afternoon, {{user}},” Kennedy said calmly, putting the report aside. “Something happened?”

“What happened?” you approached his desk. “What happened is that Jim just called my report “too emotional for a woman,” and Nicholas added that “I should focus on the details, not the big picture”! The details, Leon! The details that I’ve been describing to them for four hours straight!” You slammed your fist on the table, enough to make several folders jump. “These old stumps,” you continued, not giving the agent a chance to get a word in. “They only see me as a fucking woman! They think I got in because you were my handler, and they still think I’m that girl who couldn’t tell a gamma protocol from a delta protocol! They don’t see that I spent two years in the Korean division, where every day was a fight for survival, where I single-handedly closed cases they wouldn’t even take! They…”

Beneath the rage, there was weariness and deep resentment. And Leon, who had once underestimated you himself, had unwittingly become the target of your outburst.

Scott watched you. He saw more than just an angry woman, but wounded pride. In that moment, when your usually reserved demeanor cracked, he saw something more.

"They don't understand who you are now. But you do, don't you?" He stood up from the table, closing the distance between you. "You're not that greenhorn. You know who you are. And you know your report was damn accurate."

He spoke to you as an equal. You looked up at him. There was still a fire in your eyes, but there was confusion mixed in. Just a moment ago, you teased the agent about his "old-fashioned" methods, and he just smirked.

"Life is often unfair," Leon said softly. "But you don't have to prove anything to them. Let your results speak for themselves. You proved it in Asia. You'll prove it here."

He reached out and very carefully touched your forearm. The contact was light, almost imperceptible. A shock ran through your body. This was not just a colleague's touch. It was a touch, full of understanding, support, and something else you couldn’t name.

You saw something more than the usual weariness in the blue of his eyes. There was recognition there—not just of your professional qualities, but of yourself.

And then it happened. A spark. The air in the office seemed thick, saturated with unspoken words and feelings. It was a strange, incomprehensible chemistry that suddenly flared. The anger evaporated, leaving only a thrill.

“Jim and Nicholas,” he said calmly. “They’re just old farts who are afraid of change. Never mind.” You felt the thread between you still vibrating.