Chapter 12: Bridging Perspectives

Julius Hemingway stood at the head of the conference room, his presence commanding attention as he addressed the gathered agents. Edith and Zain sat side by side, their expressions guarded as they listened to their superior's announcement. 

"Due to the nature of this mission, you will be assigned a hotel room to share for the duration of your stay," Julius stated, his tone matter-of-fact. A collective murmur rippled through the room as the agents exchanged surprised glances. Sharing a hotel room with a rival agent was not standard protocol, and the idea did not sit well with many of them.

Edith's lips curled into a frown as she shot a glance at Zain, her irritation evident. She leaned in to whisper to Markus, her voice low but tinged with annoyance. "Can you believe this? Sharing a room with Callahan? This is going to be a disaster."

Markus nodded sympathetically, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Just try to keep it professional, Edith," he advised, his tone laced with humor. Meanwhile, Zain leaned over to Violet, his expression equally disgruntled. "Seriously? Sharing a room with Wood?" he muttered, his frustration evident.

Violet rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with amusement. "Could be worse, Zain. At least you're not bunking with Cian, you know he snores." she replied, trying to lighten the mood. But Zain just scowled his irritation mounting. "This is ridiculous. I can't believe I have to spend the next few days stuck with her," he grumbled, his tone sour.

As Julius concluded his briefing and dismissed the agents, Edith and Zain rose from their seats, their expressions dark with discontent. They exchanged a terse nod before making their way out of the conference room, their thoughts already consumed with the prospect of sharing a room with their rival.

—

Arriving at the hotel, they checked in at the front desk and were handed a key card for their shared room on the sixth floor. The elevator ride was uncomfortably silent, each lost in their thoughts.

As Edith and Zain made their way to the hotel, tension simmered between them like a low-grade fever. The evening air was cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the heat of their frustration. The hallway was dimly lit, the carpet soft beneath their feet as they walked toward their room. Zain inserted the key card into the lock, the light blinking green as the door clicked open.

The hotel room was a study in modest comfort, its beige walls adorned with generic landscape prints, the curtains drawn to reveal a view of the city's twinkling lights. Two twin beds, each neatly made with crisp white linens, occupied opposite corners of the room. A small desk nestled between them empty now but soon to be cluttered with laptops, files, and pens. The room was illuminated by a soft glow emanating from the bedside lamps, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

Edith and Zain entered the room, their footsteps echoing on the carpeted floor as they took in their temporary abode. Edith tossed her bag onto one of the beds with a casual air, while Zain meticulously arranged his belongings on the desk, his movements precise and deliberate.

Edith let out a sigh and settled into the desk chair, her laptop already awaiting her. Methodically, she started to unpack her files, arranging them neatly across the desk. At the same time Zain set his laptop and case binder down on the desk. Edith looked over tilting her head, "Who said you get the desk?" 

"Don't be childish Wood, we can share like adults." Zain said moving her stuff aside slightly. She rolled her eyes flicking one of his files off the desk.

As they settled into their respective workspaces, the tension in the room began to build. Edith's brow furrowed in concentration as she poured over the files before her, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed furiously. Zain, on the other hand, sat with his back ramrod straight, his eyes narrowed in thought as he studied the screen of his laptop. Hours passed in silence as they worked, the only sound of the soft click of keys and the occasional rustle of paper. But beneath the surface, a sense of restlessness simmered, a tension that threatened to boil over at any moment.

Finally, Edith broke the silence, her voice hesitant as she addressed Zain. "So, how do you think we should approach this mission?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. 

Zain glanced up from his laptop, his expression guarded. "I think we need to gather as much intel as possible before making any moves," he replied, his voice measured.

Edith frowned, shaking her head in disagreement. "Time is of the essence," she countered, her tone growing more impassioned. "We need to act quickly if we want to prevent further escalation of the conflict." 

Zain's jaw tensed, his frustration beginning to show. "And what if rushing in leads to unnecessary casualties?" he shot back, his voice rising in frustration.

Their debate grew more heated with each passing moment, their voices rising in volume as they clashed over their differing perspectives. Finally, with a frustrated huff, Edith pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

"I need some air," she muttered, storming off to the bathroom without another word. Zain watched her go, his own emotions roiling beneath the surface. Inside the bathroom, Edith moved with purpose, splashing cold water on her face in an attempt to calm her racing thoughts. But as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration.

She walked out and he went into the bathroom, after around 15 minutes Edith got impatient. "Let's go, pretty boy!" she called out through the door, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Are you having trouble ungelling your hair?" 

On the other side of the door, Zain's cheeks flushed crimson at her teasing tone. But when he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair was indeed ungelled, his face freshly shaved. 

"You think I'm pretty?" he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye as he met Edith's gaze. Rolling her eyes, Edith reached around him to grab her hairbrush from the bathroom counter. "In your dreams, Callahan," she shot back, her tone angry.

K.M Strunk