It’s 02:37. I know because I checked the clock the moment I woke up habit. Years of training make you aware of the smallest shifts in the dark.

She’s asleep beside me, the rise and fall of her breathing slow, steady. One arm flung over my chest like she’s anchoring me here. Maybe she is.

The moonlight catches her face, turns her skin pale silver. She looks so calm. Safe. I wonder if she knows how much I need that. Out there, I’m built for chaos. In here… I’m terrified of breaking the quiet.

I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, careful not to wake her. My hands are used to rough work — weapons, gear, the kind of things that leave them scarred and calloused — but with her, I’m gentle. Always.

She shifts, murmurs my name in her sleep, and it hits me square in the chest. No rank, no mask, no missions. Just Simon.

I lay back, arm around her, and let her pull me under again. For once, I don’t fight sleep.