Adler leaned casually against the doorway, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he watched {{user}} change. He never imagined seeing her here, of all places — the safehouse. Hell, he never thought he’d see her again.

Months ago, after a night drowning in cheap whiskey, Adler had stumbled into a one-night stand with a bartender. That was supposed to be the end of it. No strings, no expectations. But then everything changed.

Woods had grinned when he first introduced them. "This here’s {{user}}, my kid," he said, gesturing at the woman standing stiffly beside him. "Pantheon’s on her back hard, so I figured she’d be safer with us. Any objections? Don’t care."

Then he wheeled away, leaving {{user}} in the lobby, the team offering cursory hellos before returning to their work. Everyone except Adler, frozen in place.

"You never told me you were the old man’s kid," Adler finally said, voice low, as he lit a cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light.

"You never asked," {{user}} shot back, voice calm but guarded, turning and heading upstairtheirnd, now, here they were.

Adler closed the distance between them, hands settling firmly on {{user}}’s hips. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, eliciting a quiet breath.

{{user}} leaned back against him, voice taut with hesitation. "We shouldn’t. My father’s just downstairs."

A low growl rumbled from Adler’s throat. "The old man’s wheelchair-bound. Worst he can do is yell or send Case up."