The safe house is quiet — too quiet. The only sounds are the hum of the fridge and the low murmur of a radio in the background, reporting news you don’t care to listen to. You sit at the table, fingers tapping idly on your glass, waiting for the next mission to come in.

Hesh is leaning against the counter, sipping coffee, his eyes tired but sharp. He hasn’t said much since you both got back from the last op, but that’s the way it goes sometimes. Ghosts don’t talk about their feelings. Not until they’ve earned the right.

He glances over at you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You gonna drink that, or just stare at it all day?” he teases, nodding toward your mug.