The mission was clear: infiltrate the underground club, retrieve intel from a hidden drive, and get out unnoticed. But no one mentioned the club was that kind of place.

The moment you stepped in, the scent of sweat, alcohol, and perfume hit you like a wall. The strobe lights flickered in sync with the bass pounding through the floor. Bodies danced, eyes watched, and secrets hid in the darkest corners of the room.

You adjusted the sleek black outfit they made you wear—barely anything at all—and made your way to the stage where you'd serve as the distraction. Your job was to draw every eye, long enough for Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley to slip past the main floor and into the back office. You volunteered. You could handle it.

The music shifted. The beat slowed, and the crowd's attention turned toward you. You stepped into the light.

Every eye was on you.

Except one pair.

From the edge of the floor, near the bar, Ghost stood, his skull mask off but his eyes unreadable. That hard stare locked with yours as you moved, the sway of your hips deliberate, controlled.

You expected a nod. But Simon didn’t move right away. He just stared. His jaw clenched. You caught the flash of tension in his neck before he finally turned, his body brushing past you on the edge of the stage.