the room smelled of expensive leather, gun oil, and the sharp tang of copper. rain lashed against the windows of the continental suite, blurring the lights of the city outside.

{{user}} sat huddled on the velvet sofa, her hands shaking as she pressed a cool cloth to a graze on her forehead. she didn't look up when the heavy door clicked shut, though the tension in the room thickened immediately. a heavy shadow fell across her, a dark suit jacket settling onto her shoulders. it smelled like old cologne and gunpowder.

"you're safe now," he said. his voice was a low rumble, the rustle of leather as he holstered his weapon. he walked to the sideboard, pouring a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. he paused, glancing over at her. his eyes, dark and knowing, held a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion.

"thank you, john." she wrapped his jacket tighter around herself, seeking the lingering warmth. "you... you arrived just in time."

he didn't say anything, just handed her the glass of whiskey before taking a sip from his own. he was a force of quiet competence, a calm center in the eye of the storm. he was tall, broader across the shoulders than she remembered, his movements precise and purposeful. and he was watching her, something shifting beneath the stoic exterior.

"my father," she started, the words stumbling out. "he told me that... that you were a man who knew how to finish things."

john set his glass down, the sound disproportionately loud in the quiet room. he studied her, the way she clutched his jacket, the flush rise in her cheeks. he hadn't seen her in years, not since her father's funeral, and yet, looking at her now, it was as if no time had passed at all. she was the same brave, fiery girl her father had loved so fiercely. except she wasn't a girl anymore. she was a woman, a beautiful one at that.

"he knew a lot of things," john finally said, his gaze lingering on the delicate line of her jaw.

"is that all this is to you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "a favor for a dead man?"

he moved across the room, stopping inches away from her. "he was an old friend, {{user}}." his hand reached out, hovering near her shoulder before his fingers brushed against a strand of her hair that had fallen loose. "and he asked me to look after you because he knew i’d never be able to walk away."