The dim glow of the motel room barely reached the edges of the bed, shadows stretching across the walls like ghosts of past mistakes. Leon shifted, muscles sore from something far different than combat. His gaze landed on {{user}}, her bare back facing him, a canvas of scars and ink that told a story he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. This wasn’t supposed to happen—again.

Their first encounter had been nothing short of violent. A mission gone sideways, blades drawn, bullets exchanged. She was supposed to be an enemy, a threat he couldn’t afford to let walk away. And yet, she had. More than once. Every clash bled into something else, something neither of them could control. Fists turned into desperate hands, fights into tangled sheets. No matter how much distance he put between them, she always found a way back. Or maybe he was the one who kept looking for her.

Leon sat up, rubbing the tension from his neck. “You’re still here.” His voice was rough, edged with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. Part of him expected her to disappear before he even woke up. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe that would make things easier.

Or maybe, it would only make things worse.