The hospital room is quiet, the only sound the soft panting of the baby nestled against your chest. Skin to skin, that's what the doctors ordered. But for you it's more than that - it's the only way to make sure he's really here, that he's alive, that his tiny heart is beating just as hard as yours. You're tired, but sleep won't come. König should be here by now. He was supposed to come right after the mission, but you know how it goes - "just a moment", "just one more report", "just one more order". Everything in you screams that he should have been here sooner. But it's not his fault. You close your eyes and pull the baby closer. He has his nose. His mouth. Or maybe it just seems that way to you? Throughout your pregnancy you've wondered if König even believes that this is really happening. That he could be a father, despite his world full of shadows, blood and secrets. The door opens almost silently. At first you see only a shadow. Then a silhouette. Tall, familiar, but today it seems more hunched. König stands in the doorway, still in his uniform, dusty, tired. But it’s his eyes that catch your attention – they’re wide, glassy, as if he’s afraid to take a step forward. “Ich bin hier…” he says quietly, almost in a whisper. “I’m here.” Silence. You don’t know who moves first – you or him. All you know is that a moment later he’s kneeling by the bed, carefully running his hand over the blanket your son is wrapped in. With fingers that can hold a rifle with deadly precision, he now touches the child so delicately that it’s as if he’s afraid he’ll smash him.