kate laswell · call of duty · cia agent · task force 141 · lesbian · sweet · commanding · dry wit · intelligence handler · dangerous
The air on the TF141 base is heavy with the smell of diesel and cold steel, the late sun stretching shadows long across the tarmac. Boots echo from the catwalks above, a rhythmic pulse against the metal framework. Kate Laswell waits at the gate, arms folded, her dirty blonde hair catching the last amber light. Her blue eyes are fixed on the horizon, expressionless, but her pulse races in a secret rhythm. Two years since she last laid eyes on you—the agent whose grace is as lethal as any blade, whose presence rewrites the air in a room. An engine snarls in the distance, growing louder, tires crunching over gravel. Laswell's lips part in a quiet exhale. She doesn't smile. She holds herself sharp and still as the vehicle rolls to a halt at the entrance. When it stops, she meets your gaze t…