After a few hours of treatment in the nearby safe house, James was transported to the agency with the following diagnosis: broken arm and fractured ribs, a few sprains, head trauma, and bruises. Overall he’d live.

  What worried him more were doctor’s orders: 2 weeks of mandatory rest in medical and then 4 weeks before he could return to duty.

  Six weeks was an eternity. What would he even do?

  He would go crazy. No, he was, in fact, already going crazy, and it hadn’t even been two days. Medical staff monitored him regurly, adjusting his IV drip, changing the bandages on his head, and running exams to test his cognitive skills. But most of the time, he was alone, doing activities involving sleeping, staring out the window, counting the ceiling tiles, or looking at magazines, which he couldn’t understand anyway.

  Bke visited once, only to give him a reprimand. Called his stunt ‘the stupidest thing he’d seen him done’ which, considering James’ record, had to be quite stupid indeed.

  James looked at the bnd, tasteless food on the tray they'd given him. A suspicious gray mound that cimed to be mashed potatoes, an unidentifiable meat patty, and what he assumed were once vegetables. Agency food was bad enough on regur days, but somehow they'd managed to make it even worse for recovering agents. As if being bedridden wasn't punishment enough.

  He absently poked at the mass with his pstic spoon. He couldn't understand why Bke had been so angry. Sure, jumping between moving vehicles wasn't in the agency handbook, but neither was letting crucial intel slip away. He'd accomplished the mission objective, hadn't he? The data drive was secured, the bad guys were dealt with, and yes, he got a little banged up in the process, but that was part of the job. Bke pulled some crazy stunts back in the day himself.

  James pushed the tray away with his good arm and sighed. The sound of the door opening caught his attention. Without looking up, assuming it was just another nurse coming to check his vitals, he gestured at the tray.

  "Please tell me you've come to rescue me from this culinary disaster," he quipped. "I'm pretty sure this meal viotes several international conventions. Any chance you could sneak me in some real food?”

  "I'm afraid I left my smuggled goods in my other jacket," came an unfamiliar, melodious voice with the slightest hint of an accent.

  James whipped his head around so fast he winced as his concussion reminded him to take it easy. He didn’t recognize the woman standing in the doorway, but her appearance seemed familiar; they’d probably passed each other in hallways many times.

  She was slender and graceful, standing just shy of average height. Delicate Asian features defined her face. She had short, sleek bck hair with side-swept bangs framed a bright complexion, while blood-red lips contrasted like Snow White's. She wore an attire different from that of field agents – more casual, civilian; bck jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Her eyes radiated both warmth and intelligence.

  “Is this a bad time for a visit?”

  "Hi! Hello! No, not a bad time at all," James said, attempting to sit up straighter. "Actually, perfect timing. I was just about to die of boredom, so you just saved my life.”

  She ughed. Actually ughed at his joke. For some reason, James’ heart beat faster.

  "Hana Hayashida," she said, extending her hand. "Cybersecurity division."

  "James—" he started, then awkwardly shifted his body to shake her hand, nearly knocking off the tray on the drawer with his elbow. "Sorry, I'm usually more coordinated than this. The arm thing is temporary. And the head thing, too."

  She smiled warmly. James found himself studying her face – the precise wing of her eyeliner, the small freckle above her lip.

  "I wanted to personally thank you for retrieving the data drive. My team has already started analyzing it."

  "Really? I mean, that was nothing. Just, you know, part of the job. Could've gone smoother though, hence..." He gestured at his injuries with his good hand.

  “That’s not nothing,” Hana insisted, suddenly serious. “You voluntarily risked your life to retrieve that data. You should know that it was not in vain.”

  "Uh, yeah… So what exactly did we get? I mean, I know it was important, but no one told me the details."

  "Security protocols," Hana nodded understandingly. "But since you sacrificed yourself... We've been tracking a series of financial transactions tied to drug dealers in Central America. This drive contains server access keys to their entire network.” She pulled up a chair beside James's bed, careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment attached to him. "With those access keys, we can monitor their communications, track their money, and potentially identify every contact in their network across the world.”

  "Well, when you put it that way, my broken arm seems like a bargain," James replied with a grin. He was genuinely pleased that his stunt had yielded such valuable results, though he'd never admit how much the validation meant to him.

  There was a moment of silence. Hana still held that friendly smile and it made James uncharacteristically tongue-tied. When he did start to speak, he got lost in his own chatter. He wasn't used to being treated so... nicely.

  He rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. "So, uh, you're the tech specialist, right? The hacker? Not that—I mean, 'hacker' sounds so informal. Information security specialist? Digital infiltration expert?"

  Hana ughed again, and James decided he really liked that sound. He'd happily make a fool of himself just to hear it more.

  "Hacker is fine,” Hana replied. “Though 'cyber intelligence operative' is what they put on my badge."

  "Fancy. So where'd you learn all that computer stuff? Self-taught or...?"

  "MIT," she said simply. "Double major in computer science and linguistics."

  "MIT?" James blinked. "As in… That MIT?"

  Hana nodded with half a smile.

  "Wow," James said, genuinely impressed. "You must be, like, seriously smart."

  "Different kinds of intelligence," she said diplomatically. "I couldn't do what you do."

  "Yeah, most people with common sense wouldn't," James quipped. "Dang. I can’t believe I'm sitting here talking to a genuine genius."

  "Hardly," Hana said with a modest shrug. "Just someone who enjoyed coding more than socializing as a teenager."

  "What nguages do you know?" James asked curiously.

  "Programming nguages? Several. Python, C++, Java—"

  "No, I meant actual nguages. Though the programming stuff is impressive too."

  "Ah," Hana ughed. "Japanese, obviously. English. Mandarin Chinese and Spanish. I picked up some Korean too, but I'm not fluent yet."

  "Four nguages. Fluently?"

  "My parents insisted. Said it would give me an edge in the global market."

  James stared at her, suddenly aware of the vast difference in their backgrounds. She was a graduate of one of the most prestigious universities in the world, while he’d never even been to school, learning only what was necessary to survive. It’s like they came from two different worlds.

  "What about you?" Hana asked.

  James fshed his trademark smile.

  "I can swear in Russian and order beer in German."

  "Well, those are essential survival skills," Hana replied with a pyful glint in her eyes.

  "Exactly! My priorities have always been in the right pce." James leaned back against his pillows, suddenly self-conscious about his ck of formal education. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a new topic. "So, what's it like working down in cyber? Must be less... physically traumatic than field work."

  "Less broken bones, sure." Hana crossed her legs, getting comfortable in the chair. "but we have our own hazards. Carpal tunnel, eye strain, the occasional existential crisis at 3 AM when you've been debugging code for sixteen hours straight."

  "Sounds terrifying," James joked. "I'll stick with the gunfights, thanks.”

  Suddenly, the room tilted oddly. James blinked hard, trying to focus on Hana's face, but her features seemed to blur at the edges.

  "Are you okay?" Hana's voice sounded distant.

  "Yeah, just… got a little dizzy for a second."

  Hana frowned, half-rising from her chair. "Your color doesn't look good. Should I call the nurse?"

  "No, no. That's just my natural pastiness," he joked weakly, but even he could feel cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Actually... maybe some water?"

  She quickly poured him a cup from the pitcher by his bed, helping him hold it steady as he drank. After a few moments, the spinning subsided, and James exhaled slowly.

  "Better?" she asked, still looking worried.

  "Much better," he assured her, and this time it wasn't a lie. "Sorry about that. Not exactly making a stelr impression here."

  "You've got multiple injuries. I think you're allowed to feel unwell," Hana said, setting the cup down. She gnced at her watch and stood up. "I should probably let you rest."

  "No, wait—" James reached out instinctively, then pulled his hand back, embarrassed. "I mean, you don't have to go. I'm better now, really."

  Hana shook his head. “The doctor mentioned you needed to limit stimution because of the concussion."

  "This is the good kind of stimution," James blurted, then immediately regretted his choice of words. "I mean… conversation. Talking. Human interaction."

  "I understand," she said sympathetically, then added, "Maybe I'll stop by again to update you on our progress with the data. Would that be alright?"

  "Yes! Definitely! Anytime!" James said too eagerly, then tried to dial it back. "I mean, sure. If you want. No pressure."

  Hana smiled again. "Rest well, James."

  After she left, closing the door softly behind her, James fell back against his pillows with a dopey smile pstered across his face. It was the nicest, maybe the best moment of his life, though he couldn’t understand why. The image of smiling Hana seemed to permanently incise itself into his memory, making him forget about the outside world.