"Next week, I'll be heading back to Manhattan. Do you need to pack anything, Race?"

"…Pack? I’ve barely been here long enough to have any belongings. My weapons were all taken, so I’ll just leave with my body."

"Still, you’ll need to pack up all those underwear boxes, right?"

"I told you not to keep bringing that up!"

November 30th, 8:30 AM, Washington D.C., Pentagon Dagger Team quarters.

Instead of the usual noise of roasting beans or an alarm clock, the sound of Race's angry yet not-so-angry whining echoed in the morning, which was quite the emotional shift. As soon as I woke up, I was struck by how incredibly red his pale white face had turned—an impressive sight.

The air was fresh, and the weather was cool. A brutal 4°C cold had gripped the room since the morning. Of course, if Logan heard this, he’d probably ask if it was summer, but still...