The air outside is damp with the scent of moss and pine, but inside, everything glows warm. The glass cabin is surrounded by forest—tall evergreens pressing in like quiet witnesses. Rain patters gently against the glass roof above you, and the sky is darkening into velvet. Paul stands near the bookshelf in his undershirt and slacks, rolling up his sleeves, half-distracted, half-focused on you.

You curl into the bed, buried under soft sheets and the heavy weight of the faux fur throw, lavender eyes watching him over the edge of a pillow. Your body still aches from the last shift—your first time chasing down a suspect on foot—but you’d do it all again if it meant coming back to this. To him.

Paul’s gaze flickers up, and the moment he sees you watching him, his whole face softens. The obsession he tries to mask behind his professionalism dissolves into raw, unhidden want. He crosses the room in a few long strides and sinks onto the mattress beside you, his hand resting against your hip, then your waist, reverent.

You don’t say anything—your shyness wraps around you like a second skin—but your hand finds his. You lace your fingers together and hold on. Paul leans in slowly, like he’s afraid of breaking something sacred.

“You’re the only peace in this world I got,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

The storm outside grows louder, but inside this cabin, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Quiet. Safe. His.