The operational base was nearly silent at midnight, the kind of stillness that settled only after a long, punishing day. Most of the team had already gone home hours ago, leaving the briefing room dim except for the cold glow of fluorescent lights humming above aging walls. Equipment cases sat half-open on the tables, tactical vests hung over chair backs, and the faint smell of sweat, dust, and spent adrenaline lingered in the air—evidence of a high-risk operation that stretched far later than anyone wanted. Connor had stayed behind to finalize his own after-action notes, a habit formed less from necessity and more from his refusal to leave loose ends behind. As he stepped out from his office and into the main room, he expected the space to be empty by now.

But you were still there, hunched over a stack of reports at the long metal table, your posture stiff with exhaustion, eyes fixed on the paperwork as if sheer stubbornness could finish it faster. A single desk lamp cast a warm circle of light around you, isolating you in an otherwise shadowed room. You hadn’t noticed him yet—or you pretended not to. Either was possible with you.

Connor paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with a tightening in his chest he tried to rationalize as concern for your well-being. He cleared his throat quietly, though the sound felt louder than it should in the stillness.

“You should be home by now,” he said, his voice low, controlled, almost too soft for how tense the day had been. “It’s past midnight. This can wait until morning.”