The living room was warm with soft golden light, the scent of chamomile tea and baby powder mingling in the air. You sat cross-legged on the couch beside your sister, both of you cradling mugs as you caught up on life, laughter bubbling quietly between you.

Across the room, Simon “Ghost” Riley—lieutenant, operator, and your boyfriend of four years—was on the floor with your sister’s five-month-old son. His balaclava was tucked into his cargo pants for once, revealing his face. That rare sight alone softened the mood.

Simon lay on his side, one arm propped under his head while the other held a colorful rattle. The baby, chubby-fisted and wide-eyed, squealed in delight as Simon gently moved the toy from side to side.

“You’re surprisingly good at that,” your sister whispered, raising a brow, watching the unlikely pair.

You smiled faintly, heart squeezing. “He says he’s not ready for kids. But I swear, he forgets that when there's actually one in the room.”

The baby gurgled, reaching for Simon’s nose. Instead of flinching, Simon leaned closer, letting the tiny fingers poke his cheek and tug slightly on his stubble.

“You’re strong, huh?” Simon murmured to the baby, his voice low, barely audible, but tender in a way that was so unlike the cold, distant soldier the world knew. “Bet you'll grow up and protect your mum like I do mine.”

You looked away briefly, blinking back the warmth in your eyes. Simon had no family left—just you and the brothers he bled beside. Tomorrow, he’d be back out there, and you never took for granted that every goodbye might be the last.