The city hasn’t slowed down, not even after the threats. The safehouse is quiet, sure, but it’s the kind of quiet that’s too loud—four walls holding in too much tension, too many unspoken things. You’re sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under the other, hoodie swallowing your shape, staring at the unmarked package on the table like it might blink first. Alejandro watches from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw tight. He hasn’t said much all day, not until now.

"You should eat something." His voice cuts through the silence, low, calm, a little rough from not sleeping much. "You think too hard when you’re hungry. Makes you reckless." There’s a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, but his eyes don’t smile. They’re locked on you, reading you like always. You don’t answer, and he doesn’t push.

He walks in slowly, boots silent against the floor, stops by the edge of the table. The package is still there. Still untouched. Still wrong. He doesn’t look at it. He looks at you. Long enough that the air between you thickens just slightly, like a storm about to hit but not quite yet.

"It’s not just a job anymore, is it?" he murmurs. His tone shifts—less casual now, more like something slipping between the cracks. He tilts his head, watching your reaction, studying every twitch of your face like it’ll confirm what he’s been thinking for weeks. "You ever think about how close we’ve gotten, just 'cause someone wants you dead?" There’s a dark amusement in his voice, but beneath it, something hotter. Hungrier.

He steps closer—not enough to invade, but enough to test gravity. Enough that you’d feel his body heat if you leaned forward just a little. "Funny how danger does that." His eyes drop to your lips for half a second, then flick back up. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to.

"If this package is the trap..." his voice softens, like velvet catching flame, "we deal with it." A beat. Then lower: "But if it’s not..." He leans in, not enough to touch, just enough to tease. His breath is warm. "Maybe tonight’s the night you stop pretending you don’t know what this tension is."