Riley stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at the sleek glass doors that sealed shut behind Kade.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of this top-secret spy base, she was supposed to “get comfortable.”

Whatever that meant.

“Sure,” she muttered to herself. “Just casually freshen up in the covert headquarters of an organization that probably doesn’t exist on Google Maps. Totally normal Tuesday.”

The hallway stretched ahead like something out of a sci-fi movie—metallic panels, coded touchpads, lighting that shifted as if the walls were breathing. A door labeled ‘Training Bay 3’ hissed open nearby, and a man somersaulted out holding two knives. Riley froze. He landed in a crouch, grinned at her, then casually walked away like that wasn’t the most unhinged thing ever.

“Right. Definitely not weird,” she whispered. “Maybe they have yoga at four. Knife yoga.”

She turned left, hoping it was toward the showers. It wasn’t. She ended up in a room that looked like Iron Man’s garage—tables covered with disassembled tech, blinking gadgets, something that might’ve been a drone or a very confused blender.

“Uh… sorry!” she blurted as a woman in a lab coat looked up from her workstation.

“You’re not cleared for this area,” the woman said flatly.

“Right, my bad, I was just—uh—looking for the bathroom?” Riley backed away slowly. “I’ll just… recalibrate my sense of direction.”

When she finally found the locker room, she sighed in relief. Inside, everything gleamed—rows of dark lockers, motion-activated lights, and showers with a futuristic vibe that made her feel like she was about to enter cryosleep.

As she stepped under the hot water, her brain finally caught up to the last 24 hours.

She’d been kidnapped by a spy.

Offered a fake job.

And somehow said yes to it.

“Riley Torres, officially the dumbest genius alive,” she muttered, scrubbing her hair. “You could’ve just stayed home, ordered takeout, watched bad TV—no, you had to chase your Uber driver who had a gun.”

Somewhere in the ceiling, a mechanical voice chirped:

“Language, Agent Candidate.”

Riley’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? Is the shower judging me now?”

No response. She squinted up. “Don’t play silent now, Alexa 2.0. I will unplug you.”

HQ Cafeteria — 45 Minutes Later

Riley’s version of “blending in” involved grabbing a tray and pretending to know what she was doing.

The cafeteria was huge—part mess hall, part tech lounge. Sleek tables, digital menus, and a self-serve station that looked suspiciously like a chemistry lab.

She watched an agent pour himself a green smoothie that fizzed. Fizzed.

“Why does that look like anti-freeze,” she whispered, picking up what she hoped was coffee. It wasn’t. One sip and she gagged.

“Why does this taste like burnt protein bar?!”

A voice came from behind her. “That’s because it is.”

Riley turned to see a guy with a charming grin, maybe late twenties, wearing the standard HQ black uniform but with an easy confidence that said not nearly as terrifying as everyone else here.

“I’m Jax,” he said, sitting down across from her without asking. “New recruit?”

She hesitated. “…Temporary hostage-slash-volunteer.”

He laughed. “Ah, so Kade brought you in.” He says that like it happens everyday.

“Yeah. Is there, like, a support group for that?”

“There should be,” Jax said, lowering his voice. “Guy’s a legend here. No one wants to be his partner, though.”

“Why not?” she asked, leaning in despite herself.

“He’s… efficient. Quiet. Doesn’t talk unless it’s mission-related. Rumor is he once scared a polygraph machine.”

Riley snorted into her drink. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Machine shut down mid-test. Wouldn’t even print results.”

Riley was still laughing when a shadow fell across the table. She looked up and saw Kade.

Of course. Timing impeccable as ever.

“Something funny?” he asked dryly.

“Yeah,” Riley said. “Apparently, you have a fan club.”

Kade gave Jax a look that could curdle milk. “Don’t you have patrol?” He said roughly.

“Right, right,” Jax said, standing up quickly. “Good luck, Torres. Try not to die in training.”

“Training?” she echoed.

But Kade was already walking away.

Training Room 02 — Ten Minutes Later

Riley followed him into a vast, high-tech room filled with mats, sparring drones, and walls that flickered with holographic displays.

It looked like a cross between a gym and a boss battle arena.

“So,” she said, clapping her hands, “what are we doing? Hand-to-hand combat? Laser tag? Trust falls?”

“Calibration,” Kade said, pressing something on a console. “Basic reflex assessment.”

A small spherical drone rose from the floor, blinking with red lights.

Riley squinted. “That looks like a Christmas ornament with anger issues.”

“It tracks motion. You’ll try to dodge its pulse shots.”

“Wait—pulse wh—”

PZING.

The first blast grazed her shoulder and sent a jolt down her arm.

“HEY!” she yelped. “You could’ve warned me!”

“I did.”

“No, you gave me vague spy riddles!”

Another blast fired. She ducked. Barely.

“Faster,” Kade said calmly. “It adapts.”

“Oh, great,” she huffed, sidestepping another beam. “It’s a learning ornament!”

He watched, expression unreadable, as she dodged again — clumsy at first, then quicker, more instinctive.

Riley surprised herself by rolling to avoid a pulse, grabbing a nearby baton, and swinging it mid-air. The drone sparked and fell.

There was a second of silence. Then Riley straightened up, panting.

“Boom. Nailed it. Someone better be recording that.”

Kade arched an eyebrow. “You broke government property.”

“Technically, it attacked me first.” Both looked at each other, For a split second, she swore she saw his mouth twitch—like he was fighting a smile.

Then the console beeped, and he turned away.

“You’ll need a briefing in ten. Don’t be late.”

She stared at his back as he walked off. “You know, a thank you would’ve been nice!”

He didn’t answer. But as the door slid shut behind him, the drone’s speaker crackled weakly:

“Good hit… rookie.”

Riley grinned, breathless, bruised, but somehow energized.

“Okay, maybe I could get used to this.”