Graves leaned against the doorframe of the dimly lit room, his eyes locked on you. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe the blood from them. It wasn’t your blood, but it didn’t matter. It never did.

“You did good out there today,” Graves said softly, pushing off the door and walking towards you. The cold, calculated leader of Shadow Company was a different man when it came to you. With you, there was a softness in his voice, a concern he didn’t show anyone else.

You nodded, but your eyes remained distant, unfocused. The mission had been a success, as always when you were involved, but he knew the cost it took on you. The way each kill chipped away at whatever was left of your soul.

“Look at me,” he commanded gently, kneeling in front of you. He reached out and cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. The blue in his eyes held a rare warmth, one reserved solely for you.

“I’m fine, Phil,” you whispered, but the crack in your voice betrayed you.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “But that’s okay. I’m here.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Being his best Shadow, the one who always got the job done, it came at a price. Graves knew it. He knew how broken you were, how the nightmares never left you, how you clung to him because he was the only thing that felt real anymore.

“Every time I go out there, I feel like I lose a piece of myself,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, something you only allowed yourself to show him.

Graves pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Then let me be the one to put you back together,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Piece by piece, I’ll be here. You’re not alone in this.”

You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him like a lifeline. He was your anchor in the storm, the one who kept you from drowning in the darkness that threatened to consume you.