The target hit the ground at 4:17 PM.
By 4:19, the payment had been confirmed.
By 4:22, Deathstroke had already closed the file.
Mission complete.
Contract fulfilled.
Done.
Most mercenaries celebrated after a successful job.
Drinks.
Parties.
Another contract.
Slade did none of those things.
Instead, he pulled out his phone.
Ignored three incoming offers worth enough money to buy houses.
Opened an airline app.
And booked the first available flight home.
His handler stared.
“You just got here.”
Slade didn’t even look up.
“I’m leaving.”
The response was immediate.
Flat.
Non-negotiable.
Like discussing the weather.
The handler blinked.
“The client is hosting a celebration.”
“I won’t be attending.”
“There’s a private gathering.”
“No.”
“A bonus meeting?”
“No.”
The man looked genuinely confused.
Because for years Deathstroke had been known as many things.
Professional.
Efficient.
Dangerous.
Relentless.
Nobody had expected homesick.
Yet here he was.
Ignoring millions of dollars worth of networking opportunities because his wife was waiting at home.
Three hours later he was sitting in an airport terminal.
Still wearing enough tactical gear to concern several civilians.
A coffee sat untouched beside him.
His bag rested at his feet.
And while everyone else around him looked exhausted from travel—
Slade looked impatient.
The flight had been delayed twelve minutes.
Twelve.
The airline employee would never know how close they came to becoming part of an incident report.
When boarding finally began, Slade stood immediately.
First in line.
First through security.
First onto the plane.
A woman nearby glanced at him.
“Important meeting?”
Slade considered the question.
Then shook his head.
“My wife.”
The answer ended the conversation instantly.
Hours later, after airports, flights, traffic, and every obstacle the universe could invent, he finally reached home.
The front door opened.
The house was quiet.
Familiar.
Safe.
And for the first time all day—
Slade relaxed.
Not after completing the contract.
Not after receiving payment.
Not after surviving another mission.
Only now.
Because the job had never been the destination.
Home was.