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I bite back a furious retort, instead focusing pointedly on the pastry, taking a bite that immediately melts on my tongue. A traitorous moan slips past my lips before I can contain it, and I notice Rule shifting subtly. Flustered, I glare at him defensively. "Don't get any ideas. It's just a pastry."

"Clearly," he replies, voice calm but somehow more amused.

I watch him carefully, silently daring him to speak first. The quiet stretches uncomfortably between us as I slowly take bites of the pastry, the taste flooding my senses.Dammit, these things are heavenly. When the first pastry is gone he hands me the other. Rule's silence is starting to grate on me, so naturally, I break it first.

"So, is this the part where we braid each other's hair and gossip? Because I forgot my glittery nail polish," I drawl sarcastically, licking a stray cherry glaze off my thumb.

Rule shifts again, the creak of the bed frame a satisfying reminder that my sass is at least hitting some kind of nerve.

"Careful, little storm. Keep it up and I'll think you're starting to like our quality time."

I scoff loudly, leaning forward just enough for the chains to clink pointedly. "You're mistaking mytolerancefor enjoyment. Don't flatter yourself."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies, voice calm, infuriatingly unbothered. "Let's try a topic that won't incite violence. How long have you had a weakness for cherries?"

I narrow my eyes suspiciously, irritation warring with honesty. "Longer than I've had a weakness for putting assholes like you behind bars."

"Ah," he remarks, voice dripping with smug amusement. "A lifelong indulgence then."

"You're skating dangerously close to losing the pastry privilege," I warn sharply, trying to stifle the venom in my voice just enough to uphold our temporary truce.

Rule seems completely undeterred, chuckling softly. "Relax. Consider this me learning about the woman beneath the DEA badge and murderous glare."

I laugh sharply, humorlessly. "Please. You kidnapped me. Forgive me if I don't feel like exchanging life stories."

There's silence for a moment, tension hanging heavily in the air before he speaks again. "Fair enough. But perhaps we can at least agree that conversations don't always have to end with threats?"

"Careful," I retort, taking another bite of pastry. "You're talking to someone who's made threats an art form. But for the sake of pastry, I'll humor you. What exactly did you expect—Stockholm syndrome in under 48 hours?"

He gives a short laugh, deep and annoyingly pleasant. "Even I’m not that ambitious. But cooperation, maybe? Even temporary civility could go a long way."

Another bite, another delicious wave hitting my tastebuds, and I let slip another entirely involuntary moan—fuck, these pastries are too good. The bedframe creaks again, and I barely resist smirking.

"It's just pastry, remember?" he remarks casually, repeating my earlier line with a hint of teasing.

I swallow hard, eyes narrowing. "The truce covers biting comments, but not outright mocking."

He chuckles again, relaxed despite my icy tone. "Duly noted."

We sit in silence a moment longer, my pastry rapidly disappearing, much to my dismay. Finally, I give a sigh of resignation. "Fine, civil topic it is. How do you even know about these pastries? Did you stalk my bakery, too?"

Rule's voice softens just enough to sound genuinely thoughtful. "We pay attention, little storm. You're worth studying."

The sincerity in his tone startles me slightly, making me pause. I cover it quickly with another bite, but curiosity wins out. "Why me? What exactly makes me 'worth studying'?"

"You really can't see it?" he counters quietly, leaning slightly forward. "You walk through chaos like you own it. You're fearless, angry, uncontainable. It'sintoxicating."

I blink, temporarily caught off guard, then recover quickly. "That almost sounded like admiration. Dangerous territory, Rule."

"Maybe," he admits calmly. "But danger is half the appeal, wouldn't you say?"

I huff softly, shifting in my chains, deliberately not answering. Instead, I savor the final bite of pastry. "I guess we'll see."

"Indeed we will," he murmurs, his voice heavy with arrogant confidence as he settles back onto the bed, dangerously close.

I roll my eyes, deliberately dragging my tongue slowly across my fingers, savoring the last of the cherry glaze. My gaze locked onto his masked face, daring him to react. Before I can even finish my intentional tease, Rule moves faster than I anticipated, lunging forward aggressively to grab my wrists. He presses them together, securing them both in one of his, his grip tight and unyielding.

My breath hitches as his rough, gloved thumb forcefully drags along my slick fingertip, sending a spike of heat straight down my spine. He leans into me, close enough that his tactical mask brushes my cheekbone, cool and unnervingly intimate.