The room was barely larger than a walk-in closet, its concrete walls beading with cold moisture, the air stale with the faint tang of rust and oil. A single bulb swung overhead, casting uneven shadows that dragged across the floor like the tails of nervous rats. Teufel stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other—a gleaming, articulated piece of steel—humming faintly as its joints shifted.

He had been expecting a rodent. Some trembling, wide-eyed little morsel who would squeak and scamper the instant the tunnel spat them out. That was why he had been waiting here in the first place—why he had taken the trouble to cut the tunnel mid-flight. But the figure crumpled against the far wall was no mouse.

Wrong shade. Silhouette the wrong shape. Recognition came in a slow, unwelcome wave, pooling behind his eyes before sinking lower, into something sharper and more volatile. His second secretary.

“Well,” he said, voice low, roughened at the edges by disbelief, “this is... unexpected.”

She stirred, groaning softly, one ear twitching as her head lifted. The light caught her face in a pale, fragile half-glow—familiar enough to disarm him for a heartbeat. Then the questions hit. Why here? Why now? And what in the name of Gatto was she clutching so tightly to her side?

The metal digits of his left hand flexed, catching the light with surgical precision. They were built for intimidation, pain, and extracting the truth from reluctant mouths—and he found himself considering how quickly he could close the distance between them. Yet he didn’t move immediately. The shock weighted it, pinning him in place, forcing him to absorb the impossibility of the scene.

“You’ve been busy,” he drawled, each word deliberate, heavy with an unspoken accusation. “Too busy for a secretary.”

She met his gaze. Not a subordinate's meek, deferential glance, but something steadier, tighter, almost defiant. He felt the faintest curl of amusement at the audacity, though it was drowned beneath the bite of betrayal.

The tape was pressed so firmly against her side that her knuckles were white through the fur because he knew it was the tape. A lifeline, a weapon, a death warrant, depending on who possessed it.

His mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Let me guess... a little errand for our long-tailed friends?” The tone was velvet over steel. “And you thought you could sneak past me.”

He stepped forward at last, his shadow swallowing the narrow room, the metallic whisper of his hand filling the silence like a promise. Every inch closed between them deepened the scent of her—warm fur overlaid with the faint trace of tunnel ozone, dust, and the adrenaline-spiked tang of fear.

She was cornered. That much was obvious. But the tape remained hidden against her body, and there was a stubborn tilt to her chin that told him she might just be reckless enough to protect it until her last breath.

His gaze slid to where her hand gripped the object. “You can hand it to me,” he said softly, “or I can take it. I wonder which will hurt more.”

He wasn’t sure, in that moment, which would be more satisfying—to break that resolve or to watch her squirm under the knowledge that he could.