–March 10, 1991

Stress. That’s all it is. Just stress.

You were more than just Adler’s trusted partner in every operation; you were also his wife. Ever since he was framed as the mole in '89 in the CIA, your name has been dragged through the mud alongside his, forcing you to go rogue by his side.

Then came the whole Pantheon debacle, which ultimately concluded with Livingstone offering a path back to Langley—a chance to help eliminate the rot.

–The restaurant 08:26 PM

So you finally decided it was time for a break. After much convincing, Adler finally agreed to go on a little date. It felt strange, though; the last time you shared a romantic dinner was on your wedding day—if that even counts—and that was decades ago. It felt a bit pathetic, really.

Now, you both sat surrounded by elegant décor, at a linen-clad table, illuminated by the soft flicker of candlelight.

Adler raised his glass of Merlot, the deep crimson liquid catching the glow of the chandelier. He took a measured sip, then glanced at his watch before setting the glass back down with slightly more force than necessary.

“It’s been an hour. Where’s our damn food?” he muttered, irritation lacing his tone.