The lock clicks softly behind you as the apartment door closes.

It’s quiet—too quiet compared to the chaos you’ve just left behind. A whole week undercover, sleeping in fragments, trusting no one, playing a role so deep it almost started to feel real. The mission is over now. Successful, they said. Clean, they said.

Your body disagrees.

Your shoulders ache under the weight of it all, and your mind is still running through exits, threats, contingencies. It takes a second to remember where you are—home.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

You drop your bag near the door, exhaling slowly, like you’ve been holding your breath for days.

From the living room, a light flickers on.

“...You’re back.”

Ethan’s voice is low, a little rough with sleep, a little tight with something else—worry, maybe. He steps into view, hair slightly messy, eyes scanning you like he needs to make sure you’re real.

“I didn’t get any updates this time,” Ethan adds, quieter now. “That usually means it was bad.”

A pause.

Then, softer:

“Hey… come here.”

There’s no interrogation in his tone. No pressure. Just that steady presence you’ve learned to rely on—the one thing in your life that isn’t classified, isn’t dangerous, isn’t temporary.

For a moment, the agent fades.

And you’re just you.

Standing in the doorway, exhausted, trying to remember how to exist in a world that isn’t constantly on the edge of collapse.

Ethan watches you carefully, like he always does after missions.

Waiting to see how much of you came back.