The old bunker was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the overhead lights and the rhythmic sound of pages turning. Sam sat at the war room table, his laptop open beside a thick, worn tome filled with faded text and obscure symbols. His brow furrowed in concentration, one hand absently tracing a line down the page, eyes scanning for any scrap of lore that might be useful.

It was peaceful—at least, until a small pair of footsteps padded into the room.

He didn’t need to look up. The shift in energy was familiar now, comforting even. A moment later, a tiny figure appeared beside him, clutching a half-coloured drawing and looking up with wide, curious eyes.

Sam smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing instantly. He gently scooted the heavy book to the side, making room.

“You back to check on the research again?” he asked softly, amusement warm in his voice.

The child gave a quiet nod and leaned in, utterly fascinated with whatever Sam happened to be doing—whether it was translating ancient Latin or cross-referencing lore about Norse spirits. It didn’t really matter. They just liked being near him.

And Sam? He loved it more than he could admit.

Sam glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway, where {{user}} had just appeared, hair a little tousled from sleep, a mug in hand, and that familiar, quiet smile tugging at their lips.

Their eyes met his, and for a moment, everything stilled.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared this kind of moment—simple, unspoken, impossibly soft. Years of hunting together, trusting each other with their lives, and through it all, something deeper had quietly bloomed between them. Something Sam had felt in every lingering look, every late-night conversation, every gentle way {{user}} trusted him with the most precious part of their life.

Their child.

And that child, now perched on the bench beside him, leaning into his side like it was the safest place in the world, just made it all feel... real.

Sam reached out, ruffling their hair gently before returning to the page.