Soap wasn’t sure what had woken him at first. One second, he was out cold on the couch, the quiet hum of the house lulling him into rare, peaceful sleep. The next, a deafening blast of sound exploded through the living room, shaking him awake with the force of a flashbang.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he bolted upright, hand instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. His brain caught up a second later—no gunfire, no explosion. Just the TV, screaming at full volume in the dead of night.

And standing there, frozen in the glow of the screen like a deer in the headlights, was his kid.

Soap exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t even have to check the time to know they were supposed to be asleep.

“Y’know,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep, “sneakin’ around works a lot better when you don’t wake the whole bloody house.”