He was a cold-blooded killer, a monster to many, an enemy to thousands—someone no sane soldier would dare cross. But to you, he was the most gentle, loving man you’d ever meet.

From the moment you joined the task force, you had him wrapped around your finger—your loyalty and sincerity gripping his old heart. Beautiful, vibrant, and sweet—a dangerous mix for a war-torn soldier like him, lungs ruined by cigars, wings clipped, hair graying.

He’d do anything to keep you safe, sacrificing his own well-being if it meant you thrived. Some might even say he loved you.

Now, you sat on the porch of the temporary cabin, admiring the peaceful scenery, when he stepped outside with two mugs of tea. With a quiet grunt, he sat beside you, handing you one.