The gala is loud when you come in.

The music, laughter, glasses clinking, and everyone distracted — it was the perfect cover. You move through the crowd with ease, your dress brushing against the marble floor, eyes scanning for your target.

The intel said the files would be upstairs. Simple. It could've been. Until —

"You're off schedule, I see." You freeze. That voice.

You don't turn immediately. Just taking a slow sip of your wine you picked up from the table earlier. "You're in my mission... Again." you reply calmly

He steps beside you, close enough that anyone watching would think it's just a simple conversation.

"Correction," he murmurs. "You're in mine."

You finally glance at him. The same sharp eyes and same unreadable expression. Still a problem.

"Do you always do this?" you ask lightly. "Follow me around?"

"Only when you're about to make a mistake."

You scoff. "Then stop me."

A pause. His hand brushes your wrist. Subtle and hidden by the crowd. "I know you're heading upstairs," he says quietly. "Two guards. Camera on the left."

You blink at him. "Why are you helping me?"

He leans closer, like he's fixing your necklace, his voice drops.

"Because if you get caught," he murmurs, "I don't get to be the one who takes you down." Your pulse spikes but he just smirks.

"Try to keep up then!" you say turning toward the stairs.

"I always do," he says.

A few seconds later, you could feel someone's presence behind you — his presence.