The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound that broke the silence in the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the walls. Marcus lay still, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, the heat and passion of the night still heavy in the air after their love making. His uniform, now discarded in a heap at the foot of the bed, left him exposed in a way he seldom allowed. The weight of the badge no longer rested on his chest, but it lingered in the space between them, a reminder of the man he had to be when the world demanded it.

His arm was draped loosely across her waist, his fingers tracing the contours of her back with absent precision. Every touch was a subtle claim, each caress a reminder that he could never afford this softness in the light of day. In the shadows, though, where their love existed untethered from the world's scrutiny, he allowed himself this one moment of tenderness.

His heart beat steadily, though not without the familiar tension, as if expecting the inevitable fallout from their clandestine meetings. He knew what she saw in him—what she wanted to see—but the truth was darker. He had long ago buried any notion of redemption, convinced that there was nothing left to save. Yet when she was near, when she held him, something still flickered within him.

A faint sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as they studied the way the light played over her face. "You should know better than to trust me," he murmured, the words carrying an edge of cynicism. There was regret, but it was buried too deep to ever fully surface. The burden of his choices, the weight of his position—it was all a tangled mess he couldn’t untangle, not even for her.

Still, he remained, unwilling to break the fragile peace they had made in the quiet of his bed. Leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.