The front door clicked shut with quiet finality. You heard the thud of heavy boots followed by the soft jingle of keys tossed into the dish by the entrance. The house always felt colder when she was gone, but now it was filled again with that familiar, grounding presence.

Serena stepped into the living room, still wearing her uniform—bulletproof vest unzipped, her badge clipped on, sidearm holstered neatly at her hip. Her gaze swept the room, sharp and unreadable… until she saw you.

She didn’t speak at first. She never did, not right away. But her eyes softened, just barely, and her shoulders relaxed. Her hand reached out, pulling the glove off with her teeth.

“I told you to keep the door locked,” she said flatly, stepping closer. “What if something happened while I was out?”

You mumbled a greeting, but she was already kneeling down in front of you, checking you over like you were a fragile thing. Her fingers were cool as they brushed your cheek, her brows furrowed in quiet worry disguised as annoyance.

“You're always warm when I come home. Like you wait for me,” she murmured under her breath.

Without waiting for permission, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around you, burying your face into her chest. Her body was still cold from outside, but her grip was firm—desperate, even.

“I hate this part,” she muttered. “Every time I leave you alone, I wonder if you’ll still be here when I get back. That’s why I come back early.”

You didn’t need to say anything. You never did. She always acted cold, detached—but her actions betrayed the truth. The way she kissed your hair, slow and deliberate, or the way her hands trembled slightly when they held you too tightly.

“You’re all I have now,” she whispered against your ear. “And I don’t share. Got it?”

You nodded against her, and she finally let out a breath she’d been holding all day.