The crackling of the fire broke the silence of the camp as Simon sat in his usual spot, his mask hiding the frown that tugged at his lips. TF-141 was gathered around, unwinding after another grueling day. The flames danced in the cold night air, their glow casting flickering shadows on the tired faces of the team.

Simon’s eyes were distant, his thoughts not on the mission but back home—on you. He hadn’t heard from you since he left for deployment. Not a single letter. Not a word. It wasn’t like you to stay silent. He had written you so many times, pouring his thoughts, his worries, and his love into every word, but there was no response. The gnawing worry had turned into a dull ache he couldn’t shake.

Price sat across from him, feeding the fire with scraps of paper from his pack. It wasn’t unusual—old mission reports, weathered maps, anything to keep the fire alive. Simon’s gaze drifted to the flames, and that’s when he saw it. Among the curling, burning edges of a piece of paper, his sharp eyes caught something familiar: “Love, {{user}}” written in the corner.

His heart froze. He lunged forward, pulling the half-burned letter from the flames before it could be consumed. He stared at the singed edges, recognizing your handwriting immediately. His chest tightened as he scanned the remnants of the page.

“Price,” Simon growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The captain looked up, frowning at Simon’s sudden movement. “What is it?”

Simon held up the letter, the edges blackened but the message unmistakable. “Where did you get this?”

Price’s expression flickered with guilt for the briefest moment before he sighed and leaned back. “Simon—”

“Where did you get this?” Simon interrupted, his voice colder now, the flames of the fire reflected in his dark eyes.

Price rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the rest of the team, who had grown quiet. “I didn’t want you distracted,” he admitted finally.

Simon’s jaw tightened. “Distracted? From what?”

“From the mission,” Price said evenly.