Slade didn’t believe in retirement.

Men like him didn’t get to walk away clean. There was always another contract, another name on a list, another enemy waiting for the moment he let his guard down.

It wasn’t a career.

It was a life sentence.

So when he made the decision—

He didn’t leave room for argument.

The safe house had changed over the past few months. Weapons cleared out. Surveillance reduced. Fewer exit strategies mapped into every room. The kind of adjustments that would have made the old version of him restless.

Now it just felt… intentional.

Slade stood near the doorway, arms crossed as he looked over the space, his eye tracking the small details with the same precision he used on missions.

Only this time, nothing was out of place.

“…We’re done,” he said simply.

Not a suggestion.

Not temporary.

Final.

His gaze shifted slightly, settling on her for a moment before moving back to the room.

“No more contracts. No more jobs that end with a body count.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—but no less firm—

“I made that decision already.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tightening just enough to show the weight behind it.

Because this part?

This was new territory.

Not a battlefield.

Not something he could plan for with weapons and contingencies.

His eye moved again, this time toward the small bundle resting nearby.

“…Kid’s ours,” he added, voice lower now, rough around the edges in a way it rarely was.

Another pause.

Then, with the same certainty he brought to everything else—

“Means we do right by it.”

For once, Slade wasn’t planning for war.

He was planning to stay.