Simon stood outside the studio, hands heavy on the door as he hesitated for just a second. The sound of his boots scraping against the ground reminded him of the mud-slicked terrain from his last deployment. Except this wasn’t a battlefield—it was his daughter’s ballet studio. But somehow, tonight, it felt just as daunting.

He barged through the door, still dressed in his uniform, his skull mask tucked in a bag slung over his shoulder. His black gear, patches, and fatigues seemed out of place against the pastel pink and soft lighting of the studio. The wide mirrors, the wooden barres, and the glossy floors were a world away from where Simon spent most of his time. But it was Ellie's world, and that made it his world too.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breathless, before anyone had a chance to greet him. His voice came out rough, his throat still tight from barking orders all day. "Got caught up in something... couldn’t shake loose," he muttered as his eyes darted toward the back of the room.

There, sitting quietly with her small ballet bag and pink tutu, was Ellie. Her tiny legs dangled from the bench, scuffed ballet slippers just grazing the floor. She looked up at him. There was no anger in her eyes, just the quiet, practiced patience of a five-year-old who was all too used to waiting.

Ellie looked up at him, her big brown eyes lighting up as she saw her father, despite how late he was. She didn't seem upset—she never did, but that only made Simon feel worse. She simply accepted it, every time. And Simon knew he was failing her in some way, even if she didn’t realize it.

"Hey, munchkin," he said, kneeling down to her level, his voice softer now. "Ready to go home?"

Before Ellie could answer was Simon already turning to {{user}}, Ellies ballet tutor. He was prepared for a scolding, hell - he would understand if they would throw him and Ellie out of class all together with him being late for the past few weeks.

"I'm so sorry," Simon began, his words tumbling out as he approached them. "I got caught up—"