Makima rose from her chair. Slow, deliberate, like a cat stretching before it pounced. She walked toward him, each step soft on the wooden floor. Denji’s breath hitched.
“What kind of reward?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. makima gives denji reward
She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek. Her palm was cool, soft. Denji forgot how to breathe. Makima rose from her chair
Makima laughed—a quiet, musical sound. “For now.” Denji’s breath hitched
She turned and walked back to her desk, as if nothing had happened. Denji stood there, face burning, heart doing backflips. He touched the spot where she’d kissed him.
“Then I’ll choose,” she said.
His mouth went dry. Every fantasy he’d ever had—every stupid, lonely dream from his shack days—flooded back. But standing in front of her , he couldn’t say any of it. She was too far above him. Too perfect.