Page 37 of Silent Night, Deadly Night

As we drive back through London, the city waking to a cold January dawn, something settles deep in my chest. Peace. Not the absence of threat—there will always be threats—but the confidence that we can face whatever comes next.

The streets are nearly empty at this hour. Delivery trucks making early rounds, the occasional taxi ferrying shift workers home. The Thames reflects the rising sun, turning the water bronze and gold. London in winter, grey and beautiful and home.

Jordan sits beside me in the back of the Range Rover, her head resting against my shoulder, eyes closed in exhaustion and relief. Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing, holding tight.

My wife. My partner. The woman who changed everything.

I think about Switzerland. About watching her bleed, about the terror of thinking I might lose her. About the long flight home, carrying the weight of an unresolved threat. About New Year's Eve, making the decision to hunt instead of hide.

And now, this. Victory. Not perfect, not clean, but real. Volkov in custody. The consortium dismantled. The immediate threat neutralized.

We did that. Using every resource and skill we possess.

Not me protecting her from the shadows. Not her fighting alone against impossible odds. Both of us, with our team.

"Thank you," I murmur against her hair.

She stirs, opens one eye. "For what?"

"For trusting me. For letting me be your partner instead of just your protector. For understanding that partnership means we're both in danger sometimes, and that's okay."

"It's not okay," she says, but there's no heat in it. "I hate when you're in danger. Hate watching you bleed. Hate knowing you'd die for me without hesitation."

"Same," I admit. "Watching you in that warehouse tonight, playing bait, knowing his security could decide you were a threat..." I have to stop, the memory too fresh, too raw. "That was the longest hour of my life."

"But you let me do it anyway. Because I chose it. Because it was the right tactical decision." She shifts, looking up at me with those dark eyes that see too much. "That's the difference. You trust me to make my own choices, even when those choices terrify you."

"Doesn't mean I like it."

"No. But it means we're really partners. Equals." She kisses my jaw, soft and sweet. "I love you, Fitz. For protecting me when I need it. For letting me fight when I need that more. For understanding the difference."

"I love you too." The words feel inadequate for what I'm feeling. "More than I can properly express. You're everything I never knew I needed."

She smiles against my chest, settles back into my shoulder. Within minutes, her breathing evens out into sleep. Trusting me to keep watch. To get her home safe.

I hold her as London wakes around us. The sun climbs higher, turning the Thames from black to bronze. The city comes to life with delivery trucks and early commuters, oblivious to what happened in the docklands just hours ago.

My wife. My partner.

The Range Rover turns onto our street. Dawn light catches on wet pavement, on the familiar façade of home

Jordan's breathing has evened out into sleep, her hand still locked with mine. I kiss her hair, feeling the tension finally drain from my own shoulders.

Tomorrow, we'll coordinate with Interpol on Volkov's prosecution and check in with the team. But right now, in this moment, with my wife asleep against my shoulder and London waking around us, everything is exactly as it should be.

We're safe. We're home. And for now, that's enough.