© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

You never forget the sound of a perfect explosion. To most, it’s destruction. To Hendery, it’s art.

In a crumbling warehouse outside Budapest, under the static hum of cheap fluorescent lights, Hendery was laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a snort. A full-blown cackle as the entire west wing went up in flames behind him.

“Three-point-five second delay,” he grinned, watching sparks lick steel. “Still too generous.”

His goggles dangled loose around his neck, scorched gloves blackened by powder, but his eyes—bright, wild, alive—shone through the chaos. He was covered in soot, smeared with sweat, and still managed to look like the frontman of a punk band crossed with a mad scientist. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far off.

“Do you ever do anything by the book?” you hissed, ducking behind cover as another small charge popped off, scattering concrete.

“Books are boring,” he replied, popping a jelly candy in his mouth. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re mad.”

You hated how it made your cheeks burn.

Hendery was the team’s wildcard. A tech genius with the attention span of a squirrel and the destructive creativity of an unsupervised child with access to military-grade weapons. He could rewire a surveillance grid in thirty seconds flat, charm the pants off a security guard, and rig a dozen micro-bombs just to make a point.

He wasn’t supposed to be on this mission. But he hacked his way in—literally—because, and I quote: “You looked like you needed a little fun.”

You didn’t know if he was flirting or trying to get you killed. Probably both. Maybe that’s why it felt like a drug. He was chaos wrapped in candy wrappers and conspiracy theories. He’d blast music mid-stakeout. He’d hotwire getaway cars just for the thrill. And yet… beneath it all, his brilliance was terrifying.

He saw you. Every twitch, every breath, every time your guard slipped. And maybe that’s why you let him pull you closer, under the dim glow of shattered streetlamps, while sirens wailed in the distance.