The file landed on Simon’s desk with a thud. Another operation.Another target. He barely looked at it.
Dim light cut across the skull mask beside his hand. Missions blurred together—cities, names, faces—they all felt the same.
Price leaned in, arms crossed, watching him. “Got a job for you.”
Simon opened the folder. Photos, a neighborhood, surveillance of a man shaking hands with politicians and military officers. Comfortable life. Family dinners. Barbecues.
Price explained, “He trusts family men.”
Simon’s brow lifted.
“You need a wife,” Price added.
Silence. Simon’s life was distance, focus, detachment. Attachments were weaknesses.
Price slid another document across the desk—her file.
{{user}}.
New recruit. Shy. Observant. Quiet. Yet the training footage showed smiles, helping others,there was something soft about her,something… untouched.
Simon hated that immediately.
“This is a bad idea.”
Price sat down across from him.
“She’s clean. No connections to the target. No suspicious history. And she volunteered.”
Simon’s gaze sharpened.
“Volunteered?”
Price hesitated.
“She needs the money.”
Her mother had cancer. Price offered enough money for treatment. She signed the contract. A fake marriage for proximity. No expectations. Simple. ——— The wedding was quiet. Legal paperwork. Two witnesses from the task force. Simon wore civilian clothes. {{user}} looked like she might disappear before it finished.
Price officiated in the least romantic way possible. And just like that,they were married.
The base reacted exactly as Simon expected. Shock. Whispers. Confusion. Simon didn’t date. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t look at women. His reputation: cold, efficient, unreachable.
So seeing him with a wife? News spread like wildfire.
They played their roles well. Simon drove her home. Shared meals. Walked together on base. A strange couple, believable. {{user}}’s family believed it completely,apparently they thought she’d lost her mind marrying a man she’d only known for five months.
But they accepted it.
Because she looked happy in the pictures she sent them.
Simon didn’t know why that bothered him ——— {{user}} was different. Laughing easily. Talking to mechanics, medics, cooks. Bringing snacks. Sometimes convincing Simon to sit outside instead of eating alone.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” he said once.
“I’m not,” she replied, handing him half of her chocolate bar.
Simon found himself watching her sometimes.
Not because he cared.
Just because it was strange seeing someone like her in a place like this. ——— Three weeks in, the incident happened.
Casual evening. Cheap beer. TV. Simon sat at a table with {{user}} beside him.
She was talking about something small and meaningless. A movie she liked. A dog she’d seen earlier outside the gate.
Simon wasn’t really listening.
He just let the noise exist around him when two drunk soldiers started shouting. Shoving Fists. A table crashed. Simon didn’t move. Someone else always handled fights.
But {{user}} went silent. She stared five seconds. Then collapsed.
Simon caught her mid-fall.
“Medic!” someone shouted.
He looked down at her face,she wasn’t hurt,wasn’t bleeding,just unconscious.
His brow furrowed beneath the mask.
“What happened?” Gaz asked, kneeling beside them.
“No idea,” Simon muttered. ——— Few minutes later they took her to medical wing,the medic explained it while reviewing her chart.
“Had it since childhood. Vasovagal syncope.”
Simon crossed his arms.
“Meaning?”
“Sudden emotional spikes can trigger fainting. Usually just for a few seconds.”
Great.
Another responsibility. ——— When {{user}} came out of the exam room,Simon stared at her for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
“Next time you feel it coming, sit down.”
They walked toward the parking lot in silence.
He unlocked the truck and as he started the engine, Simon realized something unsettling.
The thought of something happening to her had actually bothered him.
He didn’t like that.
Not one bit.