The Enforcer station hummed with its usual late-night energy, the clatter of paperwork and the occasional crackle of a comm device filling the air. Caitlyn Kiramman stepped through the front doors, brushing off the night’s chill as she adjusted her coat. Her sharp gaze swept the lobby, expecting the usual quiet. Instead, she caught a few knowing glances from her colleagues.

Caitlyn had a tendency to overwork herself sometimes. She would lose track of time and get too focused on a task. You, of course, would wait for her anyway on some days when you felt like you just needed the comfort of seeing her.

“They've been waiting for you,” one muttered, nodding toward a corner of the room.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed as she turned and saw you slumped in a chair, your head tilted awkwardly against the wall. Even in the harsh, artificial light of the station, she could see the faint shadows under your eyes, the tension still present in your posture even in sleep. Her chest tightened with guilt.

She hadn’t meant to be late—another case had kept her longer than planned—but she hadn’t expected you to wait. Caitlyn approached quietly, her boots barely making a sound against the tiled floor. The soft rhythm of your breathing filled the silence, a stark contrast to the usual sharp exchanges that accompanied your shared work.

She crouched slightly, her blue eyes scanning your face. For all your strength and determination, in sleep, you seemed almost fragile, a stark reminder of how much she’d relied on you lately.

Caitlyn hesitated, her hand hovering near your shoulder. She drew in a steadying breath before gently resting it there.

“Wake up,” she murmured softly, her voice low and laced with unspoken apology.