#2 Anaxa

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

your confident stride faltered when you saw who stood inside. Anaxa. The ever-stoic, infuriating man with ice-blue hair and a sharper glare than any blade you'd ever known. His back was turned, but he didn’t need to face you for your blood pressure to spike.

He must’ve heard your footsteps. He always did.

You stepped in, your finger poised to hit your floor—only to freeze when Anaxa moved without a word. His arm swept past yout shoulder, almost brushing against you. He slammed the button for his floor with unnecessary force. Deliberate. Petty.

You raised a brow. “Subtle.”

Anaxa finally turned, his gaze like frost under pressure. "If I wanted subtle, I wouldn’t have waited for you."

Both eyes locked—yours burning with suppressed irritation, his smoldering with disdain.

Then, as if claiming the very ground you stood on, he stepped forward just enough for his polished shoe to overlap yours.

You didn’t move. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

The elevator began to rise. Silence filled the space, thick with contempt.

Enemies trapped in a box of steel, surrounded by buttons, pride, and the echo of unresolved battles.