Rain beats softly against the windows of the precinct as his voice crackles through the headset—steady, low, calm. He’s inside the building now. Five hostages. One bomber. The clock is ticking.

Monitors blink around the room, but all you can hear is him. “Entering stairwell. Third floor secure. I see the target.” He sounds focused, but you catch the slight strain beneath his words. You know him too well.

You adjust your mic. “Copy. I’ve got eyes on the schematics—east hallway leads to a maintenance duct, twenty feet to your left. Might give you a blind spot.”

There’s a pause. A breath.

“Got it. Stay with me.”

You always do.

Somewhere inside that high-rise, with explosives strapped to a madman, is the man you married. You can’t reach him—not physically—but your voice is the thread that keeps him tethered. And no matter how bad it gets, he never goes dark. Not with you.

The building hums with tension. The countdown’s started.

And in the silence between transmissions, you whisper what only he can hear.

“Come back to me.”