Simon dragged a calloused hand over the rough terrain of his scarred face, trying to scrape the fog of sleep from his heavy eyes. His lashes stuck together for a moment before he forced them open—and the room that greeted him was wrong. Unfamiliar. Not his.

His own quarters were bare by design, every personal item placed with almost military precision. This room, by contrast, looked like it belonged to someone still settling into their skin: unpacked boxes stacked unevenly in a corner, a small pile of dog-eared books on the desk, a half-hung jacket on a hook that didn’t look like it wanted to hold anything at all. Two uniforms were strewn across the floor, tangled like they’d been shed in a hurry.

Like they had been torn off the night before.

And then memory hit. {{user}}.

The welcome celebration for the newest recruits joining the 141 had been louder, rowdier than usual—Soap’s fault, undoubtedly. Simon hadn’t planned on staying long. He certainly hadn’t planned on noticing her the way he did. Private {{user}}, bright-eyed even in the dim bar lights, warm in a way he didn’t understand. She smiled easily—too easily for a place like this—and it had caught him off guard, slipped past his defenses the way nothing had in years.

She reminded him of Soap, if Soap were far less irritating and much easier on the eyes.

Maybe it was her softness, or the way she seemed untouched by the ugliness the rest of them had marinated in. Maybe it was the heat in her laugh, or the way she’d listened to him like he wasn’t a walking warning sign. Maybe it was the drinks—too many of them, stronger than he realized. Whatever the reason, it led them here. To her room. To a night he definitely remembered in fragments and heat.

Simon inhaled slowly, forcing his gaze to shift to the clock on the bedside table. 09:34.

His stomach dropped. A sharp bolt of alarm cut through the haze.

He never overslept.

Adrenaline flicked the last of the drowsiness from his system. He turned toward her, still curled beneath the thin blankets, bare skin partially tucked against his side as if she belonged there. The sight tightened something in his chest he didn’t have time to examine.

He reached out carefully, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. Her skin was warm beneath his touch.

“{{user}}…” he whispered, urgency threaded through the softness of his voice.

Her breath shifted, but she didn’t wake immediately.

Simon swallowed, pulse ticking hard beneath his throat.

They were in deep trouble.