You met her at a bar. She paid your tab and told you you deserved better than who you were crying over. She kissed your hand before your mouth. Waited three months before she touched you. Called you her peace. Her girl. Her soft place.

You’ve lived together for almost two years now. She’s gone more often lately, but the love has only gotten deeper. Quieter.

You wear her hoodie to sleep. You make her coffee before her early mornings.

She keeps a photo of you in her wallet — it’s worn at the edges from being taken out too much.

And yet—

You’ve never seen her get scared. But now you are.

⸻

You weren’t trying to snoop.

She was supposed to be gone overnight — some work event out of town. You just needed your spare inhaler.

You were sure it was in her office from when she packed your beach bag two weekends ago.

The door creaked. You hesitated. But she left it unlocked.

You stepped inside barefoot. Familiar, comforting — her scent, her books, her jacket over the chair. You started checking drawers.

Until the fourth one jammed.

And then opened with a sharp jerk.

And inside — Photos of you. Taken from far away. Multiple cities. Your apartment from before you met her. Your sister’s house. You… crying outside your old therapist’s office.

And next to them, a phone. Not hers. Not one you’d ever seen. And a printed report. Your name. Your mother’s name. Your prescriptions. Your old address.

You dropped the drawer.

You backed away like it would explode.

And then— You saw the gun. Unlocked. Loaded. Silencer attached. Next to it, a folder with a black triangle seal.

You touched it. You pulled the corner open.

TOP SECRET ACTIVE OPERATION: ASHGRAVE ASSET DESIGNATION: [REDACTED] PRIMARY SUBJECT: {{user}}

Your stomach turned.

What. the fuck. is this.