After he storms out of the room to blow off steam with Wes, I let the mask drop for two seconds.

Heart rate: 92 BPM.
Muscle tension: left shoulder tight.
Breathing: controlled.

I’ve been in active combat drills with less adrenaline.

It’s the eyes. That laugh. That stupid hair that looks like it would feel too good between your fingers.

Ugh.

Focus.
You’re not here to flirt. You’re not here to feel.
You’re here to protect.

I do a quick recon sweep of the room while he’s gone. Two exits. No blind spots. Power outlets near both beds. My duffel hides my blade. The comm unit is wired into the lamp.

He doesn’t know what I am.

He can’t.

Yet.