He caught her smile across the rooftop, a flash in the chaos, and felt something like gravity tug at him.

When she passed him water between missions, their fingers brushed, and he swore the world narrowed to that instant.

Under the dim light of the safehouse, they laughed quietly over old stories neither fully believed, and for a heartbeat, the war outside didn’t exist.

Gunfire echoed down the alley.

He froze. Ten children, huddled behind crates, eyes wide.

“Clear,” she whispered over the radio.

He knew she lied.

Mission: save the Americans, eliminate the rest.

The “rest” weren’t soldiers. They were kids.

He lowered his weapon.

She didn’t stop him.

That was the moment he thought he could trust her.

Days turned into nights of shared meals, whispered jokes, quiet camaraderie.

He remembered the way she laughed under fire, the way her hand brushed his when passing ammunition, the subtle warmth of her glance that made his chest tighten

In a world built on betrayal, he let himself feel something. Something dangerous.

Then headquarters called.

The room was cold. Screens flickered.

Footage of him hesitating, refusing to fire, protecting the children.

The door opened. She stepped in, badge glinting. Smile gone.

Assignment complete, the director said. 

Then it hit him.

Every laugh, every shared look, every quiet moment, part of the plan.

He hadn’t been her partner. He had been her prey.

“They were innocent", he said, steady, almost proud.

She didn’t answer.

She leveled her gun at him, calm as the truth sank in.