Slade had seen her bleed.

He’d seen her take hits that would’ve dropped trained soldiers. Watched her stitch herself up without a tremor in her hands. She carried pain like it was just another piece of gear—heavy, but manageable.

He respected that.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

It wasn’t loud at first. No screaming. No dramatic collapse. Just a crack in her breathing—subtle, uneven. The kind most people would miss.

He didn’t.

She turned away from him like she could contain it. Like she could outrun it if she just stood still long enough.

Then her shoulders shook.

Slade froze.

There was no enemy to neutralize. No exit strategy. No plan.

“…Hey,” he said, and for once, the word didn’t come out sharp.

He stepped closer, slower than he would approach a live wire. Careful. Unsure of the terrain.

She wasn’t fighting back.

That was what unsettled him most.

The strength he’d come to rely on—the steadiness—was gone, stripped away in seconds. What was left was raw. Human.

Slade reached for her, hands hovering for half a breath before settling firm and solid around her.

“You don’t have to hold it together right now,” he said quietly.

He didn’t offer solutions.

Didn’t minimize it.

He just stood there, anchoring her against him like he would in a firefight—braced, grounded, absorbing impact.

For a man who understood resilience as survival, this was something different.

This wasn’t weakness.

It was trust.

And as she finally let herself break in his arms, Slade realized—

He would rather face any battlefield than ever see her shatter like that again.