Slade had spent most of his life in noise.

Gunfire. Explosions. Command radios barking orders through static. The kind of chaos that trained a soldier to function with his senses sharpened to a razor’s edge.

Silence had never been part of the job description.

Until her.

The safe house was dim tonight, lights kept low enough that the rooms rested in soft shadow instead of the harsh glare most people preferred. Heavy curtains muted the city outside, turning the distant traffic into nothing more than a dull murmur against the walls.

Slade moved through the kitchen with unusual care, setting a glass down on the counter with more control than force.

“You never mentioned fluorescent lights were a problem,” he said evenly, voice carrying through the quiet space without rising.

His single eye flicked briefly toward the ceiling fixture before he reached up and switched it off completely, leaving only the softer lamp glowing in the corner.

The difference was immediate.

Less sharp. Less invasive.

Slade leaned back against the counter, arms folding across his chest as he studied the room like it was another environment to adapt to.

“Took me a week to figure out why you kept avoiding this room,” he continued calmly.

A faint pause followed before he added,

“Next time, just say something.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward the hallway where the rest of the house sat in careful quiet.

“I’m good at adjusting.”