The kitchen was quiet, save for the steady drip of the faucet and the low hum of the fridge.

Your hands moved calmly as you cleaned, hair in a messy bun that revealed the tattoo on your neck, Alex’s name in dark ink.

Alex stood in the doorway, eyes tired but soft. He didn’t need to see the tattoo to understand, but tonight it spoke louder than words.

He smiled, a silent acknowledgment of your bond.

He stepped closer. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You didn’t look up, just smirked slightly. “You know me. Always cleaning up.”

Your voice was calm, the kind that followed chaos only you could handle. Alex knew. The quiet between you held no fear, only shared understanding.

He reached out, fingers brushing your neck, tracing the tattoo. For a moment, everything else faded, his cases, the danger.

There was only you: the woman he loved, marked by shadows, with his name etched into your skin.