"Are you giving me an order?" The words, coated in ice and laced with a barely concealed threat, sliced through the opulent silence of James Harrison's office. He slammed the file he'd been holding onto the polished mahogany desk, scattering its contents across the surface. A bold, red "TOP SECRET" stamp glared up at him from the top sheet, a silent testament to the dangerous game he was playing.
The voice on the other end of the line, a voice James knew all too well, oozed with a condescending arrogance that made his blood boil. "Consider it a… suggestion," the voice purred, "from someone who has your best interests at heart."
"My best interests?" James scoffed, the word laced with a sardonic bite. "Or perhaps your own? Don't insult my intelligence, Edward. We both know what this is about."