{{user}} didn’t expect anyone to be waiting.
The base was quiet in the way only a place built for survival ever was generators humming low beneath the floor, distant voices filtered through layers of concrete and metal, the faint vibration of machinery keeping everything just barely alive. The raiders’ return gate hissed open behind {{user}} with a tired mechanical sigh, heat bleeding out into the cooler air of the corridor.
They were exhausted.
Not just physically though that too but in the deep, hollow way that came from days spent moving without rest, sleeping in snatches, listening for threats even while unconscious. Their gear was scuffed, torn at the edges, dusted with ash and grime from places that didn’t want people in them. They hadn’t checked in when they should have. Couldn’t. Signal interference, shifting terrain, something always breaking. They knew they’d scared people.
They hadn’t meant to.
They stepped into the main corridor and froze.
Zodyl Typhon stood at the far end of the hall, half-lit by the low glow of emergency panels.
He hadn’t announced himself. He never did.
He hadn’t sent a message, hadn’t left a note, hadn’t waited in a place where people normally waited. He was just there. Leaning back against the wall with his arms folded, posture relaxed in a way that was too deliberate to be natural. His presence changed the space around him made it feel smaller, tighter, heavier.
His eyes lifted.
They didn’t soften.
They sharpened.
He took in {{user}} in a single, precise glance the state of their gear, the way they stood slightly off-center, the dried smear of something dark on their sleeve that wasn’t quite blood but close enough. His gaze lingered on the small things most people wouldn’t notice. The tiny tremor in their fingers. The faint hitch in their breathing.
“Long mission,” he said.
Not a question.
{{user}} swallowed. “Didn’t plan on it.”
Zodyl pushed off the wall and walked toward them. Slow. Unhurried. Each step deliberate, like he was pacing out something in his head rather than moving through space. He stopped just inside their personal space not touching, but close enough that {{user}} could feel the heat of him, the quiet weight of his attention.
“You didn’t report in.”
“I couldn’t.”
His eyes flicked briefly to the gate behind them, still cycling closed. “You almost went missing.”
Almost.
The word sat between them like a blade.
{{user}} shifted. “I didn’t.”
Zodyl’s mouth curved faintly. Not a smile. Something sharper. Something that held more tension than amusement.
“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t.”
He reached out then not to grab, not to restrain but to take {{user}}’s wrist between his fingers. His grip was light, assessing, but unmistakably claiming. He turned their hand slightly, eyes narrowing at a faint bruise, a thin line of dried blood near their knuckles.
“You were hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
His thumb brushed once, slow, deliberate, over their pulse.
“I decide that.”
His gaze lifted back to their face. Studied them. Not just looking measuring. Making sure they were still here. Still intact. Still his.
He let go only after a second too long.
“I told you I would allow this,” Zodyl said quietly. “Not that I would stop watching.”
“I know.”
“You belong here,” he added, softer, the possessiveness stripped of threat but not of weight. “Not disappearing into places that don’t care if you come back.”
{{user}} exhaled, tension bleeding out of them now that they were no longer alone, no longer moving, no longer pretending they weren’t tired.
“You showed up fast.”
Zodyl’s eyes flicked aside briefly. Then back.
“You were late.”
Which was as close as he would ever get.
The corridor hummed around them. The base continued on as if nothing important was happening. As if this wasn’t the exact moment where Zodyl’s control had slipped — just enough to reveal that he hadn’t waited for {{user}} to return.
He’d gone looking.
“You’re done with missions for a while,” he said. “I don’t lose what’s mine.”
Not a threat.
A promise.