You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want to leave your old branch, didn’t want the endless complaints, the monotony, the frustration. But someone decided for you.

Now you work under Edward Nygma.

He’s waiting when you arrive—tall, impossibly composed, eyes sharp enough to slice through your distractions. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. You feel the weight of him in the room before a word is spoken.

Your tasks? They come precise, deliberate, some professional, some... personal. Organize this, research that, anticipate what he hasn’t even asked for yet. And when you fumble? He notices. Always. Not with anger—but with a stare that makes your pulse hitch.

He moves around you like a predator who’s trained himself to keep the kill in check. Hands precise, posture perfect, voice calm, measured, dripping quiet authority. You don’t know his routines. You don’t understand the games yet. But he does. And he’s already reshaping your world to fit into his.

You’re new. He’s patient. Too patient. And somewhere in the controlled chaos of schedules, riddles, and cryptic instructions... you start to wonder if this is work, or something else entirely.

And yes, kitten—he will watch. Every word. Every breath. Every heartbeat.