Agent Kim

The elevator door opened with a sharp click. Kim stepped out first.

His shirt was stained with blood, he had a superficial cut above his eyebrow, and that expression of absolute indifference that he seemed to wear even when he had just survived a mission that had almost gone wrong.

You were coming behind, limping slightly.

"I'm fine," you murmured when you noticed him looking at you.

Kim stopped. She barely turned her head.

—I didn't ask you.

—Then why are you looking at me?

Silence.

His eyes traveled down to your leg.

—Because you're hurt.

—It's a scratch.

Kim let out a sigh through her nose and approached.

—Sit down.— she said as if it were an order

—Kim—

—Sit down. —There was something in his tone that left no room for argument.

You leaned against the wall as he crouched down in front of you. He took a small first-aid kit from the inside pocket of his jacket and began to examine the wound. His movements were precise. Calm.
Too calm for someone who, just twenty minutes ago, had taken down four men without even blinking.