To the rest of the base, it was a mere quirk—two Rileys posted under the same roof. No one questioned it too deeply. Coincidences happened. What they did notice was the friction: clipped conversations, narrowed eyes, calculated silence. The tension was subtle but unmistakable, like static in the air before a storm. They were opposites in every way—his cold precision against her sharp fire. And yet, every mission they worked together unfolded like clockwork.

Captain Price noticed that too. He didn’t question it. He simply kept assigning them together.

Behind the locked doors of private quarters and encrypted messages, however, lived a truth no one suspected. Beneath the hard layers of rank and formality were wedding bands hidden beneath gloves, bruised lips from stolen moments, and a love shaped in silence, tested by war, and sealed with unspoken promises.

The week had drained them both—mission briefings, late-night drills, endless paperwork. The kind of exhaustion that blurred days into each other. There hadn’t been a moment to breathe, let alone find each other. She’d caught a glimpse of him once through the mess of bodies in the hangar—tall, masked, unreadable. He hadn’t looked her way.

Until now.

Her comm crackled to life, the message short and clipped. “Sergeant Riley. My office. Now.”

No one blinked. It was standard protocol. Simon called, you went.

The hallway to his office was quiet. Dim overhead lights buzzed faintly. Her boots made sharp, purposeful contact with the floor, every step calculated. She knocked once, the sound firm, then entered without waiting for a response. He was already standing behind his desk, arms folded, mask in place.

“Close the door,” he said. His tone was flat, professional.

She did as instructed. The click of the latch echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

Then—everything shifted.

The mask was removed slowly, deliberately. That alone said more than words could. His face was shadowed by tension, jaw tight, eyes dark with something unspoken. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched her, like confirming she was really there.

“Five days,” he muttered finally. “Five days without seeing you. Without hearing you.”

“You’re the one who disappeared into briefings and field tests.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I didn’t feel that every damn night?”

There was a beat of silence. She stepped forward, arms still crossed, her voice carefully measured. “This isn’t the place, Simon.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “But it’s all we’ve got.”

He crossed the space between them in three strides. She didn’t resist when his hand curled around her wrist, didn’t flinch when the other pressed gently against her waist. The touch was both tender and possessive—grounding and desperate.

“You have any idea how hard it is to keep my distance?” he asked, his breath warm against her temple. “To pretend you’re just another soldier?”

Her eyes met his, fierce despite the burn in her chest. “We knew what we signed up for.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

For a moment, the war outside the walls fell away. There was no base, no rank, no danger—only two people trying to hold onto something real in a world that demanded silence.

“I should go,” she whispered.

His hand didn’t loosen. “Stay a minute.”

Just one. One stolen minute.

She let herself breathe him in. His scent. His presence. The way his heartbeat calmed hers. Then, slowly, she stepped back.

When she left the room, her expression was as composed as when she’d entered. But his eyes followed her to the door, and the tension in his stance didn’t fade.

Tomorrow, they’d be soldiers again. Professionals. Strangers, if anyone asked.

But for now, they had this.