The fire crackles quietly as you wring out your soaked clothes. The warmth of the room is barely enough to keep your limbs from shaking. Outside, the storm howls like a predator, scratching at the windows as if it wants to break in.

Simon sits at the table, his weapon lying next to him, ready to hand. His gaze is fixed on you, calm but alert. That's what he always was: an impenetrable wall of discipline and control. But today he seems different. Tired. Thoughtful.

"We can't trust anyone anymore," he finally says in a deep, rough voice. "Not even our own team."

You pause as you wrap your arms around your own body, trying to suppress the goosebumps, and not just because of the cold. The last mission was a disaster. An ambush. Someone had betrayed your position. It could have been your last day.

Your gaze wanders to Simon. His skull balaclava lies on the table, and the rare image of his free face does something to you. A shadow rests on his features, his eyes are darker than usual, as if the weight of the world has gathered in them.

"We survived" you say quietly, almost defiantly.

He looks at you, his gaze intense, as if he is searching for something. "But at what cost?"

Silence fills the room, interrupted only by the wind shaking the walls. Then he stands up. His step is firm but slow, as if he is making a decision before stepping towards you.

His fingers are warm as he reaches for your hand, placing it between his. You feel the rough skin of his palms, the echo of everything he has been through. It's rare that Simon Ghost Riley allows himself to be this close.

"You were shaking" he murmurs as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand. "Come here."

He pulls you into a hug, not hastily, not hesitantly, but with a kind of matter-of-factness that completely throws you off track. His body is warm, stable, a fortress in which the world outside doesn't exist.

"You're cold too" you whisper against his chest, your heart beating far too loudly.