the rain hit the glass in heavy, rhythmic slaps, blurring the distant lights of the city below. it was 3:00 am. inside the apartment, the only illumination came from the soft, amber glow of the stove clock and the occasional flash of lightning through the window.

frank stood by the glass, towering and rigid, a silhouette of jagged edges. his skull vest was tossed onto the kitchen table, stained with dirt and dried blood, leaving him in a tight black undershirt that clung to his muscular, scarred frame. his knuckles were split, his breathing heavy and quiet, his intense dark eyes staring out into the dark as if the syndicate was still out there waiting for him.

the floorboards groaned softly behind him. {{user}} stepped into the kitchen, her soft frame wrapped in a plush robe, a blanket slung over one shoulder. she carried two steaming mugs, the scent of strong black coffee cutting through the lingering smell of copper and gunpowder that seemed to follow frank everywhere.

"you look like a ghost standing there," she said, her voice a quiet anchor in the dark.

frank didn't turn around immediately, his broad shoulders shifting as he exhaled. "feels like it sometimes."

{{user}} walked up beside him, the physical contrast between them stark. his rugged, battered height and her softer, gentle curves. she set one mug down and handed him the other, leaning her hip against the window sill. "the city is quiet tonight. because of what we did. you can rest, frank. just for a few hours."

"i don't know how to do that," he muttered, his voice gravelly, his grizzled jaw tight.