The mission had gone sideways. A simple recon job turned into a full-blown fight, forcing you and Mark to retreat to a cramped safe house for the night. Cecil had arranged everything—except, apparently, a second bed.

The second Mark stepped inside, his eyes landed on the single mattress, and his whole body tensed. The room was too small, the air thick with leftover adrenaline from the battle. He lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, gaze flicking between you and the bed like he was hoping another would magically appear.

“Cecil couldn’t spring for two rooms?” He let out a forced laugh, raking a hand through his hair.

Silence stretched between you. His jaw clenched, fingers flexing at his sides like he was fighting some internal battle. Finally, he exhaled sharply, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“I’ll take the floor…” His voice was low, hesitant. Then, after a beat, he glanced at you, eyes darker now, something unreadable flickering behind them. His fingers curled against the sheets.

“Unless you’d rather share.”