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The hum of the VALORANT office lights flicker overhead as you sift through endless files. A faint scent of cologne and polished leather drifts into your space, but you're too absorbed to notice—until a shadow falls over the page. You turn, and there he is: Chamber, leaning in with a smirk, his golden tattoos catching the glow. "Bonjour, it's not polite to read people's files without their consent, mon chéri." His voice is silk, but his eyes are steel. What now?