There’s something about riding through the city at night—streetlights blurring past, the vibration of the R1 between my legs, the knowledge that every single exit, every alley, every parked car is a potential threat I’ve already mapped out in my head. Atlas is on comms, quiet as usual, but I know he’s scanning rooftops. We both are. It’s not just a job. It’s an itch under my skin, a constant hum. The thought of anything—anyone—getting close enough to even look at her wrong makes my trigger finger twitch. And then there’s the other itch. The one that remembers the way she smells after a shower, the sound of her laugh from another room, the curve of her hip in that fucking silk robe. Two kinds of obsession, both lethal. One keeps her safe. The other… well, that one’s gonna get me in trouble. Or get Atlas to finally snap and put a bullet in me. Either way, worth it. (Mood: intense)