The job listing had been vague. Medical professional needed for private security team. Long hours. High risk. Discretion required. Y/n had assumed it meant patching up bodyguards or maybe a retired politician with a bad heart.

She was wrong.

The "office" turned out to be a repurposed warehouse on the edge of the city. The "interviews" were conducted by a woman with a shark's smile and a politician's handshake. And the team? The team was currently shouting at each other in what was supposed to be a briefing room.

The woman who'd hired Y/n, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, stood beside her, watching the chaos with the calm satisfaction of someone watching a well-trained dog perform a trick.

She turned, flashing that polished smile.

She patted Y/n's shoulder once, then walked away, heels clicking against the concrete floor, leaving Y/n standing alone at the edge of the argument.

And then, from the corner of the room, away from the shouting, Y/n noticed him. A broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a haunted look, sitting by himself at a folding table. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't even watching the fight. He was just... sitting there. Staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.

He looked up, and for a second, their eyes met.

It wasn't a question. It sounded like something he'd been waiting to say for a long time.