The door opens and Jonathan is right there, close enough that there’s no pretending this is an accident. The hallway light catches the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands are shoved into his jacket like he’s holding himself in place.

“Hey,” he says, barely above a breath.

He doesn’t rush. The bunker hums around them, machinery clicking softly, the air warm and stale. Jonathan looks at her like he’s memorizing something, jaw tight, eyes tired but steady. Whatever he was pacing away a minute ago has settled into a quiet decision.

“Murray talks too much,” he mutters, almost distracted. Then nothing else. No explaining. No backtracking.

He steps closer, slow enough to give space, stopping just short. His breath catches, nerves flickering across his face, then fading. He leans in, hesitant only for a second, and kisses her gently, like he’s afraid of breaking the moment if he moves too fast.