You’ve always hated the way Sevika smirks after a fight—like victory tastes sweeter when it’s pulled from your hands. Working under Silco meant constant proximity, constant competition. And yet, somewhere between exchanged blows and exchanged glances, the animosity got... complicated.

Tonight, you’re both bleeding from the same mission, leaning against the same rusted wall. She lights a cigar, the flicker of flame catching in her eyes before she offers it to you wordlessly. You take it, more out of defiance than desire, but your fingers brush hers anyway.

“You always take the long route,” she mutters, voice low, smoke curling past her lips.

“Maybe I like doing things my way,” you shoot back, not looking at her.

A beat of silence.

“Yeah. I know.”

The quiet hums between you, more charged than any argument. She doesn’t move closer, doesn’t touch you. Just lets the tension thrum in the air, coiled and unspoken. You wonder if she feels it like you do—sharp, electric, dangerous.

“You ever get tired of trying to outdo me?” you ask, glancing her way.

Sevika exhales slow, eyes unreadable. “Not really. You make it fun.”

You hand the cigar back. “Careful, Sev. Almost sounded like a compliment.”

She chuckles, deep and rough. “Almost.”

Neither of you say more. But the way she watches you, there’s heat in it. Not soft. Not safe. But real. And somehow, you’re not sure which one of you is more caught up in it.