You’d seen Adrian Chase angry.

You’d seen him cold.

You’d seen him dangerous.

You’d even seen him calm—almost gentle, in the rare moments when he let himself be.

But you’d never seen him break.

Not like this.

The mission had been a disaster.

The kind of disaster that didn’t just leave bodies behind.

It left scars.

It left questions.

It left a weight that didn’t go away.

Adrian came back late, the air around him heavy, like the world had gotten a little darker since he left.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even look at you.

He just walked into the apartment and collapsed onto the couch like his body had been drained of everything.

You watched him for a long moment.

Then you sat beside him.

He didn’t move.

You waited.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—so quiet you almost didn’t recognize it.

“I killed him,” he said.

You frowned. “Who?”

Adrian didn’t look at you.

“You know who,” he whispered.

You didn’t want to ask.

But you did anyway.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He finally turned his head.

His eyes were glossy, like he’d been holding back tears.

And the look on his face—

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t determination.

It was pain.

“I’m telling you because I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can’t keep acting like I’m fine.”

Your heart clenched.

You reached for his hand.

He flinched, then didn’t pull away.

“I’m not fine,” he whispered. “I’m not fine and I don’t know how to be.”

You swallowed.

“Adrian,” you said softly, “you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he said, voice breaking.

Your chest tightened.

You’d never heard him sound so human.

So fragile.

So scared.

He looked at you, and for the first time, his mask was gone.

The confidence. The arrogance. The certainty.

Everything was gone.

“What do I do?” he whispered. “What do I do when I can’t fix it?”

You didn’t have a perfect answer.

But you did have something.

You leaned closer and wrapped your arms around him.

He stiffened for a moment, like he wasn’t sure he deserved comfort.

Then he collapsed into you, trembling.

You held him tightly.

And for the first time, Adrian Chase—Peacemaker, vigilante, killer—let himself be broken.

Not because he was weak.

But because he was human.

And because, for once, he trusted you enough to let you see it.