My shoulders burned with the familiar, irritating ache earned from a late patrol—hours spent scoping the city, driving off villains and low-level criminals who didn’t know when to quit. Being the number two pro hero was far from easy work. The expectations were high, most of them unrealistic, but complaining wouldn’t change anything. It was the job. So I dealt with it.

The seatbelt clicked into place, sharp in the quiet car. I rolled my arms, tension cracking loose, and let out a slow breath as I turned the ignition. The engine’s low growl filled the space, steady and constant, like white noise. I rested a hand on the steering wheel and pulled onto the road.

Rain tapped against the windshield in a steady rhythm. The wipers swept back and forth, clearing the droplets just long enough to keep the highway in view. It was quiet out here. I liked that.

She’d be waiting for me. She always did. Never went to sleep until I came home—no matter how late it got. My wife was stubborn like that. I couldn’t fault her for it. Honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted her any other way.

Most people would call her my high school sweetheart. We met at U.A. High, back when we were just trainees learning how to survive long enough to become pro heroes. At first, I saw her the same way I saw everyone else. annoying, irrelevant, an extra in my way. Over time, though, I started noticing the small things. The way her silence carried more weight than the noise around her. How she observed instead of jumping in, letting people reveal themselves before making a judgment. She didn’t need to take control to prove anything.

And the part that really got me, whether I liked it or not, was that she could handle herself.

I pulled into the driveway and eased the car to a stop, shutting off the engine. My eyes drifted up to the dim bedroom window. She was probably buried in paperwork, surrounded by empty tea cups, pretending she wasn’t tired.

Inside, the warmth hit me immediately. My body loosened without permission. I nudged the door shut behind me and tipped my head back with a low groan. “I’m home.” I spoke quietly, my voice carrying that familiar rasp of exhaustion.

I set the suitcase with my hero costume by the door, kicked off my boots, and dragged myself upstairs. Exhausted or not, I needed to see her.