The door to June's office sealed with a soft pneumatic hiss, the sound too quiet for comfort, too final for casual conversation.
Ross didn't wait for an invitation. He crossed the threshold like he owned the room—because in every way that mattered inside these reinforced walls, he probably did.
The overhead lights caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar that curved under his left eye like a signature he'd never bothered to explain.
He moved with the loose, cool economy of someone who knew exactly how much space his presence required.
June stayed behind her desk a beat longer than necessary, fingers resting on the cool edge of the smart-glass surface.
She'd rehearsed this moment in her head a dozen times since the after-action reports came in.
Gratitude. Professional respect. Firm boundaries.
She should've known better.
