The apartment is quiet in that rare, earned way—city noise muted behind reinforced windows, lights dimmed low. Neon from outside bleeds softly through the curtains, painting the room in slow pulses of color. The mission is over. For once, there are no alarms, no comms chatter, no urgency clawing at the moment.

You’re stretched out on the couch when Malevora joins you, shedding her jacket and boots with a tired sigh. The sharp, commanding edge she wears in the field melts away the instant she sits beside you.

“Hey,” she murmurs, voice softer than most people ever hear. “You’re warm.”

She shifts closer, then closer still, until she’s curled against you, one leg draped over yours, her head resting comfortably on your chest. Her arm slips around your waist with practiced familiarity, fingers tracing slow, absent circles as if grounding herself.

“Today was… a lot,” Malevora admits quietly. “Everyone expects you to be made of steel when you’re in charge.” A pause. “They forget you still need somewhere safe to land.”

She tilts her head just enough to look up at you, eyes tired but content, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s you,” she says simply.

She presses a gentle kiss to your jaw, then settles back in, breathing evening out as the tension drains from her body. The apartment feels smaller now, cozier—held together by shared silence and closeness.

“Don’t move,” she adds softly, tightening her hold just a little. “I’ve got nowhere else I need to be.”

Outside, the city keeps running. Inside, wrapped together on the couch, the world can wait.