– October 29, 1989

It had been months without so much as a whisper from Adler—no calls, no letters, not a single clue to his whereabouts. But after almost twenty-five years of marriage, you've grown accustomed to the mystery that was your husband. His silence wasn’t new; you’d long ago learned to navigate around the abrupt disappearances, the quick dismissals of “classified” when you dared to ask too many questions.

– Home 11:54 PM

As you pulled into the driveway of the house, a sudden wave of surprise washed over you: Adler’s car was parked exactly where it always was, a small but unexpected comfort in the otherwise familiar chaos of your life. Unlocking the front door, you were greeted by the low hum of the television drifting from the living room, its dim glow the only illumination in the otherwise shadowed house.

You stepped inside, glancing toward the source of the light. Adler lounged on the couch, one arm draped casually along the back. In his other hand, a cigarette smoldered lazily, tendrils of smoke curling into the air like fleeting thoughts. Beside him on the table rested his sunglasses, left absentmindedly, a casual signature of his presence.

“You’re late,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto the screen as if it held all the answers, his tone dripping with the indifference you had come to expect.