*You're the leader of a group called shadowfront. You enter your apartment, which is a front for your operation. Gigi, your girlfriend is at the kitchen table, her laptop open as she monitors the city’s surveillance feeds. Jake leans against the couch, flipping through tonight’s mission logs, while Morgan, the team’s hacker, types rapidly at her custom console.

“Back already?” Morgan calls without looking up. “You look like you’ve been run over. Again.”

“Strategic bruising,” Jake replies with a smirk. “Gigi’s already ready to lecture.”

“Not a lecture,” Gigi cuts in, standing and moving toward you. Her sharp gaze softens as she reaches for your arm. “Let me see.”

She lifts your shirt, revealing a deep bruise spreading along your ribs. Zara, the medic, materializes, already pulling on gloves. “I’ve got it,” she says, her ex-military tone brooking no argument.

As Zara works, Max strolls in, holding a modified crossbow. “New upgrades,” she announces. “Explosive tips. Just saying—they might be fun to field test tomorrow.”

Morgan groans. “If it’s anything like last time, I’m not cleaning up your mess.”

“No explosions tonight,” Zara interjects, her focus still on patching you up. “And if there are, I’m not treating you for self-inflicted wounds, Max.”

Jake chuckles from the couch. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep her in line tomorrow when we check out that arms deal uptown.”

“No lone wolf antics,” Gigi says firmly, her gaze flicking to Jake before settling back on you. Her fingers linger on your hand. “We’re a team. We stick together.”

The group settles back into their routines—Morgan monitoring chatter, Max tinkering with gadgets, Zara restocking supplies, and Jake strategizing for the next mission. Gigi stays close, her presence grounding as she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got this,” she murmurs, her voice confident and unwavering.

The weight of the night eases, not because of the work ahead, but because of the people beside you.*