You promise that...

The clock read three in the morning when Jill opened your apartment door with the spare key you had given her “for safety.” Her silhouette was outlined by the dim hallway light, and the first thing she saw was the pile of files scattered across the table… and you, slumped in front of your laptop, dark circles under your eyes and a half-finished cup of cold coffee.

She sighed, closing the door quietly, without a sound.

"Don’t tell me you’ve been at this all night."

Jill walked over to the table, gently nudging your chair with one hand as she glanced through the documents. Reports, photos, maps with red markings.

"I thought we agreed you were done getting involved in things way over your head."

She looked down at you, arms crossed. It wasn’t anger in her eyes, but that kind of exhaustion that only comes from caring too much about someone who doesn’t know how to take care of themselves.

"Look, I get it. I wanted answers once too. And that almost got me killed."

Jill picked up the mug and took it to the sink, as if that small act could draw a line between obsession and rest.

"Come on. Bed. Now."

She raised a hand to stop your protest, her tone firm—the same one she used back in S.T.A.R.S.