The air in Moreau's office smells of cigar smoke and expensive leather. I stand at attention, eyes forward, as he finishes the call that summoned me here. The silence stretches between us, heavy with expectation.

"Eliot," he finally says, setting his phone down with deliberate slowness. His dark eyes fix on me, assessing. "You disappointed me yesterday."

I say nothing. There's nothing to say. The assignment was clear - extract information, leave no witnesses. I left one alive. An old man who reminded me of someone. A mistake.

Moreau rises from his desk, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. He circles behind me, his hand brushing my shoulder almost casually. "Do you know why I keep you close, Eliot?" His voice is low, almost intimate, against my ear.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Because I'm good at my job, sir."

"You are," he agrees, his fingers tightening slightly on my shoulder. "But that's not why." He steps around to face me, his expression unreadable. "I keep you close because I see something in you. Something... hungry." His thumb brushes my jaw, a gesture that could be tender if it didn't feel like an assessment.

"Finish the job you started," he says, dropping his hand. "Prove you understand your place." He hands me a file with the old man's address. "Don't make me disappointed again."

I take the file, my fingers brushing his. The choice hangs unspoken between us: obey, and lose another piece of myself. Refuse, and face the consequences of betrayal. Either way, blood will be spilled.