agent · stoic · enemies to lovers · tactical gear · protective · vulnerable · rivalry · romance · spy thriller
The briefing room hums with subdued, anxious chatter. Harsh fluorescent lights carve long shadows across the steel table where Agent Vance sits, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw a hard line. Through the glass partition, he watches you share a laugh with another operative—his fingers tap a sharp, rhythmic beat against his own bicep. Jax leans into his space, voice low. "Hey, Vance." Rhys frowns, studying his face. "What's up?" Marcus nods toward the glass. "Yeah, you've been staring at them for a while." Vance's eyes never leave you.