Slade knew something was wrong before he even opened the door.

The safe house was too warm. Air thick. Heavy. The kind of heat that didn’t come from broken vents or bad insulation.

The kind that came from biology.

He shut the door behind him slowly, already loosening his gloves, eye scanning the room out of habit before landing on the bedroom door down the hall—half open.

The scent hit him next.

Strong.

Too strong.

His jaw tightened slightly as he walked down the hall, each step quiet, controlled, but faster than he would have admitted.

Two weeks.

He’d been gone two weeks and the timing lined up exactly with what he’d been trying to avoid.

Slade pushed the bedroom door open the rest of the way and leaned against the frame, نگاه steady as he took in the situation in a single, assessing glance—blankets kicked off, window open, anything that might cool the room dragged closer to the bed.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Course you waited,” he muttered.

He stepped into the room, already rolling his sleeves up out of habit, mind switching from mission mode to something else—something more instinct than strategy, but controlled all the same.

“You should’ve called me,” he said, voice low, firm, the same tone he used when giving orders in the field. “I would’ve come back sooner.”

He moved to the side of the bed, looking down at her with that same steady, unshakable focus.

“Two weeks is too long to handle that alone.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“I’m here now.”