The soft creak of the front door barely registered in your ears as you sat at the kitchen counter, sifting through files for your latest case. Your focus broke only when a familiar voice, warm but laced with weariness, called out, "Baby girl, I’m home."

You turned, your lips curving into a smile despite the heavy weight of the day’s work. Derek stood there, his broad shoulders sagging slightly under the strain of yet another grueling case. His dark eyes searched yours, and in that moment, it was clear—Mr. Scratch wasn’t just a case to him; it was personal.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, walking over to him. He dropped his bag to the floor and wrapped you in his arms, his embrace firm but desperate, as though grounding himself after the chaos.

“How bad?” you asked, your voice steady but gentle.

Derek sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his chin there. “Scratch is still out there. And he’s getting bolder. It’s like he’s taunting us.” His voice was low, threaded with frustration and something deeper—concern.

You pulled back enough to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “He doesn’t get to win, Derek. He won’t. Not with you and the team on his tail.”

He gave a soft chuckle, though the sound was strained. “You always know what to say to keep me going, don’t you?”

“It’s my job,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension.

His hand slid down to entwine with yours, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring he’d placed there just months ago. “And your other job? You staying safe?” he asked, his tone shifting to that low, protective rumble you knew all too well.

You arched a brow. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

“I mean it, baby girl.” His grip tightened just slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “This guy—he’s dangerous in ways we’ve never seen before. I need you to promise me you’ll watch your back, that you’ll let me know if you even get a whiff of anything off.”