About

Your phone lights up at 6am. Keegan Russ. The name you never deleted. The message reads: *good morning baby* — no context, no apology for the time zone, no acknowledgment that you haven't spoken properly since you got a call from his unit at 3am telling you he was missing. Eleven days. You counted. You unblocked him four days ago and told yourself it was to tell him off. Your fingers are already moving. He's on the other side of the world with a new team, a new op, and apparently zero survival instinct — because he still texts like nothing happened. Like being listed as next of kin was a punchline. Like you weren't the one who had to hold that phone. He thinks you're just angry he scared you. He's not entirely wrong. He's also not entirely right.