The base lay silent, that peculiar stillness just before midnight in which even concrete seemed to breathe. You lay awake in your bed, the laptop warm against your thighs, the pale glow of your fertility clinic’s website reflected in your eyes. Profiles, data, blood types, hopes. Five years with Task Force 141, two years longing for a child—and once again, a rejection. The suitable donor had withdrawn. Again. Your usually unshakable optimism felt tired tonight.

A knock at the door made you flinch. You hastily set the laptop aside, got to your feet, and opened the door—and Simon Riley stood there. Tall, motionless, his eyes behind the mask as alert as ever. Ghost. Lieutenant. The man who rarely showed anything, yet seemed to see everything.

“May I come in?” His voice was calm, but beneath it lay something impatient.

You nodded and stepped aside. The moment the door closed, you felt his gaze on you—piercing. Too late. He had seen it. The fertility clinic’s website on your laptop. You quickly shut the laptop and set it aside.

You sat down on your bed, folded your hands in your lap, and looked up at him. “What is it, LT?” You tried to smile, but it fell apart halfway through.

Simon sat down beside you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, his presence immediately tangible—as always. For a moment he was silent, then it burst out of him, unfiltered and impulsive: “I’ll be your donor.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at him, bewildered, completely taken aback. “You’ll be what?” Had you misheard him? This had to be a joke.

He held your gaze. “I’ll be your donor. And you can decide how.” His voice was steady, almost hard, as if he needed to convince himself. He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face—a gesture so gentle it hurt. “Maybe we can go through this together. You as the mother… me as the father. Or I’m just the donor. It doesn’t matter how you decide. I’m in.”

Tears welled in your eyes. Simon Riley—the cold-hearted lieutenant, the man who wielded jealousy like a weapon and protected you as if you were made of glass. The man who rarely allowed himself to feel—sat here now, offering you everything.

“Simon…” Your voice broke. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. “Because I can’t stand seeing you like this. Because you’re always there for us. For me.” A bitter smile flickered across his lips. “And because the thought of some stranger becoming a part of you drives me insane.”