If someone had told her last week she’d be standing in a high-tech armory being fitted for field gear, Riley would’ve laughed, made a snarky TikTok about it, and gone back to fixing fonts for picky clients.

Now she stood in front of a mirror, wearing black tactical pants, a fitted jacket, and a harness full of gadgets she didn’t understand.

She looked like she was about to deliver Amazon packages in the apocalypse.

A voice behind her said, “You’re wearing that wrong.”

Riley turned to see Kade leaning against the wall, arms crossed, holding what looked like a watch straight out of a sci-fi movie.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, deadpan. “Did I miss the fashion segment of Spy Weekly?”

He stepped closer, adjusting one of the straps near her shoulder. “That buckle’s upside down. If it catches on something, you’ll get stuck.”

“Good to know,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to die because of a wardrobe malfunction.”

He didn’t laugh — but his eyes flicked to hers, brief and unreadable. Then, quietly: “You won’t die. Not if I’m there.”

For half a second, she forgot to breathe. Then she recovered, because nope, emotional tension was not on her schedule today.

“Wow, that’s comforting,” she said, smirking. “Very Terminator of you.”

He handed her the gadget-watch. “Tracker, communicator, and emergency beacon. Don’t lose it.”

“Cool. Does it also make espresso?”

“Not yet.”

She blinked. “…Was that a joke?”

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched — the tiniest victory she’d seen all day.

Riley grinned. “Oh my God, it was. You can joke. Alert the media.”

The tech assistant, a short man named Finch, came over holding a tablet. “Agent Mercener, Candidate Torres’s gear calibration is complete. You’ll need to sync her ID for field compatibility.”

“Sync my what now?” Riley asked.

Kade gestured to the wrist device. “Hold still.”

“Hold still? What are you—ohmygod, that tingles!”

The device lit up, a faint pulse of light connecting hers to his. The screen displayed:

LINK ESTABLISHED: MERCENER – TORRES

Riley blinked. “Okay, that’s not creepy at all. Great. We’re Bluetooth now.”

“It’s encrypted,” Kade said simply.

“Right. Super secret Bluetooth. Love that journey for me.” 

Later – HQ Cafeteria, same evening

Riley sat at one of the smaller tables, staring at her new ID badge like it was a joke she wasn’t in on.

Her name glowed in neat white text:

Torres, Riley — Provisional Field Asset.

Field asset. Not designer, not freelancer.

She traced the edge of the card with her thumb, her reflection wavering in the glossy surface.

Her old life had been simple — long hours alone at her desk, bad posture, takeout containers, and the quiet hum of design software.

Now? She was eating with operatives who could probably dismantle a satellite with a spoon.

Part of her missed the normalcy. The safety.

But another part — a reckless, stubborn spark — kind of loved this.

The unpredictability. The noise. The feeling that maybe, just maybe, she mattered in a bigger way now.

She sighed. “Well, Riley, you’ve officially peaked into weird life choices.”

“Talking to yourself again?” Kade’s voice came from behind her.

She jumped. “Don’t sneak up like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he said, setting down two coffees. “You just weren’t paying attention.”

He slid one toward her. “Decaf. You look wired enough.”

She blinked at the cup. “Wait—did you… get me coffee?”

“I need you functional tomorrow.”

“…You care,” she teased, eyes wide. “That’s adorable.”

He gave her a look. “I care about operational efficiency.”

“Mm-hmm. Denial. Classic sign of emotional growth.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“No,” she said cheerfully. “It’s part of my charm.”

Later that night – Briefing Room

The lights were dim, screens glowing with maps and coded visuals.

Mia stood at the front, calm and commanding as always. Kade stood beside her, reviewing data. Riley hovered awkwardly between them, adjusting her gloves like that might help her look competent.

“This will be a simple infiltration,” Mia said. “No violence, no confrontation — strictly observation.”

“Right,” Riley said, nodding. “Observe. Blend. Don’t touch shiny buttons. Got it.”

Mia’s brow lifted. “That last part was not in the protocol, but yes. Please refrain.”

Kade handed her a small case. Inside: earpiece, glasses, compact camera disguised as lipstick.

Riley whistled. “Okay, I officially forgive you for kidnapping me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Noted.”

As Mia continued explaining their target — a suspected data broker operating out of a high-end gallery downtown — Riley’s gaze drifted to Kade. The way he stood still but alert, how his eyes tracked every detail, calm but ready.

He didn’t seem nervous. He didn’t do nervous. And somehow, that steadied her more than she’d admit.

When the briefing ended, Mia dismissed them. “You deploy at oh-seven-hundred. Rest up. You’ll need it.”

As they walked out, Riley adjusted her jacket. “So, what’s the cover story this time? Because if anyone asks, I’m sticking with freelance designer. That, at least, is not a lie.”

Kade looked at her, that ghost of a smirk back again. “That works. I’ll be your driver.”

“Great. Just like old times,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Only this time, let’s try not to get shot at.”

He glanced at her — long enough for her to catch a faint glint in his eyes, equal parts warning and amusement.

“No promises.”

She grinned. “I’ll take it.”