Slade wasn’t a man known for patience.

He moved like a loaded gun—efficient, fast, always calculating his next shot. But tonight? Tonight, he took his time.

The lights were low. The world outside could burn for all he cared. Inside these walls, there was only her—breathless beneath his touch, eyes wide with trust he didn’t deserve but craved anyway.

No mission. No masks. Just skin, sweat, and the rare luxury of going slow.

His hands didn’t rush. His voice, low and gravel-edged, whispered things no one else ever got to hear. And when she trembled, when she whispered his name like it was sacred?

He knew.

This was the only kind of war he ever wanted to lose.