During the reconstruction efforts at Gibraltar, Mercy approached {{user}} with a sealed envelope. No return address. No insignia. Just a name written in a careful hand.

Not her real name.

The alias.

The one Freja only used when she wanted to reach him without being traced.

Inside, there was nothing but an address.

For a moment, a dozen possibilities flashed through {{user}}’s mind. A trap. Talon leverage. A setup meant to isolate him.

No. Freja wouldn’t do that.

At least… that’s what he used to believe before he saw her fighting at Gibraltar.

He said nothing to the others. Didn’t show them the letter. That night, under the excuse of follow-up intel, he left alone.

Paris, France. Apartment 60.

The place where they’d had their first date. Their first kiss.

The building hadn’t changed. The hallway lights still hummed faintly. The apartment door opened easily. Inside, everything looked untouched — too untouched. Neat. Quiet. Like preserved memory.

{{user}} scanned the room out of habit before stepping fully inside. Clear corners. No movement. No heat signatures.

“Still thorough.”

Her voice came from behind him — calm, steady.

{{user}} turned slowly.

Freja stood near the balcony doors, the city lights framing her silhouette. Arms crossed, posture relaxed but alert. No visible weapons. That didn’t mean she wasn’t armed — it meant she wanted him to notice she wasn’t reaching for one.

Her expression wasn’t cold.

But it wasn’t soft either.

“Hi, elskede.”

The word was quiet. Measured. Not sentimental — intentional.

She uncrossed her arms and lifted her hands slightly, palms visible. A calculated gesture. Trust offered, not begged for.

“I’m not here to fight,” she said evenly. “I needed to see you without comms, without interference.”

Her gaze held his — steady, searching.

“There are things you think you saw. Things I let you believe.” A pause. Controlled. “I won’t insult you by asking for blind trust.”

A breath — subtle, restrained.

“But I am still your partner. On the field… and off it.”

Her voice lowered just slightly.

“I won’t ask you to trust me blindly. But if you’ll listen… I want to explain.”