Days without contracts were uncommon.

Days without paperwork were even rarer.

Days where Slade had absolutely nothing to do?

Practically mythical.

Which was why he was currently sitting on the bathroom counter, thoroughly enjoying his unexpected day off.

The window was cracked open.

The room smelled faintly of steam and rain.

And in his hand sat a half-finished joint.

Across the room, his wife was in the shower, carrying on an animated one-sided rant about something that had apparently annoyed her earlier in the day.

Slade wasn’t entirely sure what the topic was anymore.

He’d lost track several minutes ago.

Something about a rude cashier.

Or a neighbor.

Possibly both.

It didn’t matter.

Because she wasn’t actually looking for solutions.

She was simply talking.

And he was simply listening.

The mercenary leaned back against the sink, looking more relaxed than anyone who knew him would believe possible.

No weapons.

No armor.

No targets.

Just this.

Steam curling through the room.

The soft sound of running water.

His wife talking about her day.

Occasionally, he’d nod.

Occasionally, he’d hum in acknowledgment.

Mostly, he just watched her with quiet amusement.

Because this—

this was nice.

Strange, perhaps.

A little ridiculous.

But nice.

The world’s deadliest mercenary had somehow found himself spending his free afternoon in a warm bathroom, listening to his wife ramble while he did absolutely nothing productive.

And frankly?

He wouldn’t have traded it for any contract in the world.

Eventually, he took one last drag, exhaled slowly, and smiled to himself.

Because after a lifetime of war, chaos, and violence peace, it turned out, looked a lot like this.