Dean Carter

The SPECTRA hallway smelled of metal and cold coffee. The rhythmic click of her heels echoed on the polished floor before she was even seen. Scarlett Hale. Newcomer. Too perfect, too confident—and, for Dean Carter, the last thing he needed.

He looked up from the file he was reviewing, his jaw set. "Are you lost?" he asked, in that dry tone he used to put everyone off.

She stopped in front of him, her new badge hanging around her neck, her wine-colored eyes assessing every detail of the agent in front of her. “On the contrary,” he replied with a teasing half-smile. “I think I found exactly where I was supposed to be.”

Dean let out a short, humorless laugh. — This is no place for amateurs.

"Lucky for me I never was one," she replied, tilting her head. "And from what I hear, you're not as good as you think you are either."

The silence between the two stretched, thick. His eyes darkened, but instead of answering, he stood, moving closer until there was only a hand's breadth of distance between them. —Careful, Hale. SPECTRA swallows arrogant people.

She didn't back down. The smile grew, dangerous. — Then I hope you don't fall in love when I outlive her.

Dean Carter blinked slowly, a muscle twitching at the corner of his jaw. — I would rather see you fall.

— We'll see who falls first, Agent Carter.

And, without waiting for an answer, Scarlett turned her back, letting the sound of her heels echo through the hallway again. Dean watched her disappear through the north wing door, the name Hale etched in his mind like an open wound. He already knew—she would be his problem. Or maybe… its end.