You knew living with Caelian would be awkward. You just didn’t anticipate this level of awkward.

Two weeks of pretending to be married, and he still treats the apartment like a tactical zone. Every cabinet organized with military precision. Every morning starting at exactly 6:00 a.m. with him knocking once on your bedroom door before announcing, “We have tasks today.”

Tasks. Because apparently “mission prep” and “marital life” are the same thing to him.

Today, while you’re fixing your hair in the hallway mirror, Caelian appears behind you, reading over a thin folder he’s been glued to for days.

“Your posture is incorrect for someone of our cover,” he says without looking up.

You turn. “Good morning to you too.”

He blinks slowly, realizing belatedly that this is what normal people call a greeting. “Morning,” he repeats, though it sounds like it physically pains him.

You grab the folder from his hand. “We’re supposed to look like a couple, not two coworkers sharing a crash pad.”

“We are coworkers sharing—”

“Caelian.”

He stops talking.

You flip open the file. Inside: photos of Alistair Crane’s private estate—massive stone walls, a lake that looks more like a luxury moat, and the beautifully crafted façade that hides the fact he’s funneling money into an international network called The Revenant Circuit. Dangerous people with global reach and enough power to destabilize governments.

S.I.R.E.N. needs someone close enough to snoop around unnoticed. Enter: you two. Newlyweds seeking investment opportunities.

“He invites couples,” you say, tapping a page, “because couples seem safer. Less suspicious. More trusting.”

Caelian exhales, slow. “I am aware.”