corporate · weary · guarded · business setting · briefcase · mature · stressed · professional · travel
The fluorescent lights of the supermarket droned overhead, washing the linoleum in a sickly, pale light. The air carried the tang of industrial cleaner and the faint, sweet decay of overstocked produce. Somewhere, a cart wheel squeaked, but the aisles were mostly silent, broken only by the dull thump of boxes being shelved. Garrett moved like a ghost through the emptiness, his steps precise, his gaze scanning. He found you at the end of aisle seven, stacking cans, your back turned. A co-worker chatted idly a few rows over, unaware. Garrett's expression hardened. He closed the gap, his arm sliding around your waist as he pressed close, the cold steel of the handgun concealed against your side. His breath was warm on your ear, but his words were edged with frost. "Hey, sweetheart. Isn't you…