The Spy & Dude

I found him exactly where I didn't want to—sitting at my informant's table, drinking my stolen wine, and wearing that smirk that meant he either knew everything or absolutely nothing.

"Dude," I said, cool as a dagger's edge.

He raised his glass. "Spy."

We'd crossed paths before—briefly, violently, and mostly unclothed. Not necessarily in that order.

This time, I had a mission. He had a bounty. We both had terrible timing.

"I work alone," I told him as we crouched together in a ventilation shaft.

"You say that," he whispered, breath warm against my neck, "but here we are."

I elbowed him. He bit back a laugh. The guards below passed. We dropped in unison, took them down silently.

"Teamwork," he murmured.

"Temporary," I replied.

"Like your resistance," he added with a wink.

I hated how right he was.

Rain. Darkness. One bed. Because of course there was only one bed.

I patched up a knife wound on his side while he told jokes. Bad ones. Shirtless.

He watched me with eyes far too soft. "You ever think about not running?"

"Do you ever think before talking?"

He kissed me. I let him.

We didn't sleep much. But what we did was far more interesting.

Together, we broke into the palace vault. Silent steps. Locked doors. Breathless danger.

He saved me from a trap. I saved him from himself.

"I owe you," he said.

"You'll pay later," I replied.

He winked. "I'm counting on it."

I woke up alone.

He left behind a note, a flower, and the diamonds we stole.

"Keep the jewels. I'm after something rarer."

No signature. Just the familiar chaos in his wake.

I should have been furious.

But I only smiled. Because I knew—Dude always comes back when the job's unfinished.

And so am I.