Five bloody months. That’s how long it took to track down {{user}} after they were taken hostage during an ambush mission.

To say he lacked sleep was an understatement—every waking hour was spent piecing together clues, comparing locations where they had been spotted. The strangest part? They didn’t resist. Every time {{user}} was seen, they were working with the enemy.

That little detail turned almost everyone against them. The easiest conclusion was that {{user}} had been a rat all along and that their capture was staged for an easy escape. But he knew it was a lie.

The nights you spent together had been drenched in raw honesty—too much for it to have been a deception. They had shown him the parts of themselves no one else had seen, the parts that would drive anyone away. If {{user}} had only been using him, wouldn’t they have chosen an easier route?

And if it had all been a lie, would they have allowed Simon to have their hand in marriage?

Thankfully, Price was on his side. He might not have fully believed Simon's explanation, but he knew his team. {{user}} was no traitor.

The hum of the overhead lights was the only sound as he stepped into the warehouse where {{user}} was supposedly being held. His heart pounded against his ribs, making it harder to think clearly.

Before he could react, the doors behind and in front of him locked. Simon's comms went dead. The last thing he heard was Price shouting something about a trap.

He cursed and turned, only to freeze.

He wasn’t alone.

There, standing before him, were you. But this wasn’t his lover. This was the embodiment of a hardened soldier. Your stance was rigid, gaze cold and unreadable. There was no warmth, no recognition—only cruel disinterest as you took him in.

This was how you looked at missions.