The harsh, unyielding buzz of the morning alarm shattered the fragile silence of dawn, instantly dragging me out of a deep, dreamless sleep. For a split second, my mind confused the shadows on my ceiling for the sleek, clean lines of the Seoul penthouse. I reached out instinctively, my fingers brushing against the rough, simple cotton sheets of my own bed, only to find the space beside me entirely cold and empty.
Reality rushed back with the force of a tidal wave. The holiday was officially over. The stolen paradise had vanished. Today, the uniform was waiting.
When I arrived at the police headquarters, the atmosphere was thick with an underlying current of severe tension. There was no time for transition, no gentle grace period to let my mind adjust to the heavy humidity of India. The moment I walked through the heavy wooden doors of the briefing room, my senior officer dropped a massive, dark blue file onto the center of the steel desk.
"It's a high-priority syndicate, Sana," the senior officer had stated, his face grim, lined with the exhaustion of a man who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. "They've crossed state lines. We're looking at a deeply entrenched network, heavily armed, and completely ruthless. This isn't just an investigation anymore. It's a ticking time bomb. I need you to lead the tactical response team."
As the hours bled into the afternoon, the sheer scale of the case began to unravel before my eyes. It was infinitely more complex, chaotic, and dangerous than I had initially calculated. The paper trail was a labyrinth of aliases, dummy corporations, and intercepted encrypted messages. Every lead felt like a dead end, and every breakthrough only revealed a deeper, more terrifying layer of criminal operation. My phone sat in my desk drawer, completely forgotten, stripped of its battery as per security protocols for classified briefings.
By late afternoon, my head was throbbing with a vicious ache. The weight of the stars on my shoulders felt heavier than they ever had before. I stood before the massive whiteboard in my office, tracing the red lines connecting the photographs of suspects, feeling a bone-deep weariness pulling at my limbs.
It's too much, a tiny, exhausted voice whispered in the back of my mind. How am I going to handle this pressure while my heart is tearing itself apart across the ocean?
I closed my eyes, taking a deep, stabilizing breath, forcing the cool, sterile air of the office into my lungs. I squeezed my hands into tight fists. No, I told myself, my inner resolve hardening into steel. You are an IPS officer. You swore an oath to protect this country, to enforce the law, to stand between the innocent and the dark. The people in this district are relying on you. Woonseok is out there, conquering his world because he believes in your strength. I will do it. I have to do it.
With that fierce internal vow, I plunged back into the darkness of the files, refusing to surface until the clock on the wall read well past ten in the evening.
The local police jeep dropped me off at my gate at exactly 11:00 PM. The night air was thick and quiet, punctuated only by the distant, rhythmic barking of neighborhood dogs. I walked up the driveway with slow, heavy steps, my boots clicking against the pavement with a dull, exhausted sound.
Stepping into the house, I was immediately greeted by a profound, respectful silence. The living room was entirely dark, save for a single amber nightlight casting long shadows across the furniture. My family knew my brutal schedule all too well; they understood that when a major case dropped, my life belonged entirely to the department. They had gone to bed hours ago, deliberately leaving the house quiet so I could unwind without the pressure of conversation.
I slipped off my heavy police boots by the door, sighing with pure relief as my feet touched the cool tiled floor. My stomach let out a loud, demanding growl, reminding me that I had completely bypassed dinner in favor of analyzing cross-state weapon transit routes.
Guided by the faint light, I made my way quietly into the kitchen. The familiar, comforting scent of roasted cumin, fresh coriander, and warm ghee hung beautifully in the air. There, resting on the kitchen counter, was a large stainless steel plate, covered neatly with a matching lid to keep the dust away. My mother had prepared a full, traditional meal for me—steamed rice, rich dal, and perfectly spiced vegetables—knowing exactly how starved I would be after a day in the field.
As I carefully lifted the lid, intending to transfer the food to a bowl, the soft creak of a floorboard sounded behind me.
I spun around instinctively, my hand hovering near my waist out of pure habit before I realized where I was. My mother stood in the kitchen archway, a soft shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders against the slight nighttime chill. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but the moment they landed on me, they filled with an immediate, deep maternal concern.
"Oh, Mom," I whispered quickly, my voice laced with a wave of guilt. "I'm so sorry. Did the sound of the door wake you up? I tried to be as quiet as possible."
My mother walked forward slowly, her bare feet making absolutely no sound on the floor. She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stopped right in front of me, her keen eyes taking in my disheveled appearance—the slight dark circles beginning to form under my eyes, the tension radiating from my neck, and the sheer exhaustion vibrating through my frame.
"Look at you, Sana," she murmured softly, her voice filled with a gentle, aching tenderness that immediately threatened to break through my professional armor. "You look completely spent, beta. And no, you didn't wake me. A mother's sleep is always light when her child is out past midnight in a uniform."
"I'm fine, Mom, really," I said, managing a small, reassuring smile as I reached for a spoon. "The case just got incredibly demanding out of nowhere. I had to stay back to finish the preliminary tactical drafts. I'm sorry you had to wait up."
"Don't worry about me, I'm perfectly fine," she said, reaching out to gently take the stainless steel plate from my hands, placing it into the microwave to warm it up for me. "Just look at yourself. You carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders the moment you step out of this house. But inside these walls, you are just my daughter. You don't have to be strong here."
The microwave hummed quietly in the silent kitchen. When it beeped, my mother took the warm plate out and handed it back to me, along with a glass of water. Before I could thank her, she stepped closer, reaching up to gently cup my face in her warm palms. She leaned forward and pressed a long, loving kiss directly onto my forehead.
"Don't get too exhausted, Sana," she whispered, her eyes shining with absolute devotion. "The work will always be there tomorrow, but your life, your health... that is what matters to us. If you ever need anything—if the pressure becomes too much to carry alone—you tell me, okay? Don't hide it from your mother."
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, nodding my head rapidly as I held her hand against my cheek for a brief second. "I know, Mom. I promise. I'll eat this and go straight to sleep."
"Good. Eat well, and then get some proper rest," she said, giving my shoulder a final, comforting squeeze before turning and walking quietly back down the hallway toward her bedroom.
Ten minutes later, I walked into my bedroom, carrying the empty plate. I closed the door firmly, shutting out the rest of the world.
The physical exhaustion was real, settling deep into my bones like lead. I immediately stripped off the heavy, rigid layers of my IPS uniform, hanging the khaki shirt and trousers carefully in the wardrobe. Shedding that uniform always felt like shedding a skin of absolute responsibility. I pulled on a pair of oversized, incredibly soft flannel pajamas and a faded, loose grey T-shirt, tying my hair up into a wildly messy, loose bun at the crown of my head.
Finally feeling human again, I crawled onto the edge of my bed, my body aching for rest. But before my head could hit the pillow, my eyes instantly drifted to my personal smartphone sitting on the desk.
My heart did a familiar, violent flutter. I reached over, grabbed the device, and turned it on. The screen illuminated the darkened room with a bright, blue glow, and a barrage of notifications immediately flooded the display.
Every single one of them was from Woonseok.
A brilliant, wide smile broke across my face, completely wiping away the residual stress of the precinct. I unlocked the phone, leaning back against the headboard as I eagerly scrolled through the digital breadcrumbs he had left for me throughout the day.
The first notification was a photograph sent early in the morning, Seoul time. It was a beautifully framed shot of a steaming ceramic mug of coffee sitting on his granite kitchen counter, the soft morning sunlight streaming through the massive glass windows of his penthouse. Attached was a simple, short text:
Morning, Butterfly. I hope you slept well. Don't forget to breathe today.
I giggled softly, my heart warming at the sight. I scrolled down to the next message, which had been sent a few hours later. This one was a behind-the-scenes photo taken inside a chaotic, high-fashion photography studio. Woonseok was sitting in a makeup chair, dressed in a breathtaking, sharp black designer suit that made him look completely ethereal and devastatingly handsome. But his eyes were half-closed, his head tilted back against the headboard in a moment of pure vulnerability. The text beneath it was hilariously brief:
Tired. This director is a perfectionist. I miss my couch. I miss you more.
"You dramatic idol," I whispered to the empty room, my smile widening as I looked at his handsome face.
The final notification was a picture sent just a couple of hours ago. It was a close-up shot of a meticulously prepared, balanced meal—grilled chicken, fresh greens, and a bowl of traditional Korean soup—sitting on a table in what looked like the agency's private lounge. The text read:
Just finished rehearsals. Min Ho forced me to eat all of this. I'm watching you through the distance, Sana. Don't forget to eat your dinner too, okay? If I find out you skipped a meal because of your files, I will fly over there myself.
The sheer, protective intensity of his messages wrapped around me like a warm blanket. He had actually kept his promise perfectly. Even though he was a global superstar running on absolute exhaustion, he had taken the time to document his entire day just to keep me anchored to his reality.
I looked at the clock on my laptop. It was 11:30 PM in India, which meant it was exactly 3:00 AM in Seoul.
He must be fast asleep by now, I thought, a small pang of longing hitting my chest. But I need to see him. Even if it's just for a minute.
I flipped open my work laptop on the bed, setting it up quickly. I connected to the secure home Wi-Fi, opened the encrypted video calling application we used, and hesitated for a fraction of a second before clicking his name. I expected it to ring endlessly, or for it to go straight to a voicemail notification.
Instead, the call connected on the very first ring.
The screen flickered to life, and my breath hitched.
Woonseok was sitting upright on the massive leather couch in his penthouse living room, the city lights of Seoul twinkling like a sea of diamonds behind the glass wall. His eyes were wide open, completely alert and intensely focused on the camera. He hadn't changed into his pajamas yet; he was still wearing a loose black hoodie, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead as if he had just washed his face to force himself to stay awake.
"Wow, Mr. Idol," I exclaimed, my voice a mixture of absolute awe and immediate concern. "It is literally 3:00 AM in Korea right now. Why on earth are you still awake? I thought for sure you would be completely knocked out after that rehearsal photo you sent me."
Woonseok didn't answer immediately. His dark, piercing gaze locked onto my image on his screen, searching every single millimeter of my face with an intensity that made my skin tingle. He took in my wildly messy hair bun, the pale exhaustion tracing my features, and the stainless steel spoon I was currently holding mid-air over my late-night dinner plate.
A soft, profoundly tender look broke across his sharp features, completely melting away the cold, imposing celebrity aura he usually carried.
"Did you honestly think I could sleep tonight, Sana?" Woonseok asked, his deep, resonant voice vibrating through my laptop speakers, sounding beautifully rough with nighttime fatigue. "You told me last night that you were stepping into a serious case today. My mind has been racing for eighteen straight hours. I've been sitting on this couch for the last two hours with my laptop open, waiting for this specific ping."
He leaned closer to his camera, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he pointed a long finger at his screen.
"And look at you. Look at that messy hair. You look absolutely exhausted, Butterfly," he murmured, his tone shifting into a gentle, affectionate scold. "But I see you are finally eating your food with that spoon. I suppose I have to praise you for actually listening to my warnings."
I looked down at the spoon in my hand, a blush creeping up my neck despite my fatigue. I took a quick bite of the warm rice and dal, chewing happily before looking back up at him.
"I saw every single one of your messages, Woon," I said, my voice bright and utterly unrestrained. "So you actually did exactly what I told you to do at the airport. You flooded my phone. Good job, Mr. Idol. You get ten out of ten for compliance."
Woonseok let out a low, melodic laugh, the sound incredibly intimate in the quiet of the night. He rested his chin in his hand, his eyes never leaving mine. "I told you I would. I am a man of my word, Sana. Especially when it comes to the only person who commands my attention. I wanted to make sure that the moment you turned your phone back on, you knew I was right there with you."
The playful banter hung in the air for a beautiful, fleeting moment, a fragile shield against the heavy reality waiting in the shadows. But as I swallowed another bite of my food, the memory of the morning briefing—the red lines on the whiteboard, the grim faces of my team, and the absolute danger of the syndicate—came rushing back, darkening my expression.
I set the spoon down onto the edge of the plate, the metal clicking sharply against the steel. The smile slowly faded from my lips, replaced by the serious, calculated demeanor of an investigative officer.
"Woonseok," I said softly, my tone shifting into a register that made him instantly straighten up on his couch. "I got lucky tonight. I managed to slip away and get home by eleven, which is why I have this brief window to call you right now. But... I need to be completely honest with you about what's coming."
Woonseok's eyes narrowed slightly, his entire posture freezing into total, hyper-focused attention. "Tell me," he commanded quietly.
"I studied the case files for hours today," I explained, my voice steady but heavy with the weight of the truth. "The investigation work... it is infinitely more dangerous and difficult than my department originally estimated. This isn't a standard local operation. We are dealing with a highly organized, heavily militarized criminal cell."
I took a deep breath, looking directly into his dark eyes through the screen, refusing to sugarcoat the reality.
"An official shoot-at-sight order has been formally cleared and issued by the ministry for the top targets of this syndicate. That means the stakes are absolute. Starting tomorrow morning, I have to completely immerse myself in the field. I have to mainly focus entirely on tracking the case and apprehending these criminals before they move across the border."
The words shoot-at-sight order seemed to physically echo through the digital connection.
I watched as Woonseok's facial expression completely shattered. His dark eyes widened drastically with a flash of raw, unadulterated terror. The color seemed to drain from his face, his jaw clenching so tightly that the muscles along his neck strained against his skin. He gripped the edge of his leather sofa so hard his knuckles turned stark white.
"Shoot at sight?" Woonseok repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerously low, tight whisper that trembled with a mixture of intense panic and furious helplessness. "Sana... you are talking about live ammunition. You are talking about a literal war zone. You told me yesterday it was a serious case, but you didn't tell me you were walking directly into a crossfire!"
"Woon, please, listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me!" he interrupted, his voice rising in an uncharacteristic display of raw emotion, his chest heaving under his black hoodie. He ran a frantic hand through his hair, his eyes blazing with a terrifying fear for my life. "How am I supposed to breathe, Sana? How am I supposed to stand on a stage and smile for cameras when I know you are out there in a field where people have orders to shoot to kill? You are a police officer, yes, I respect your duty, I know how brilliant you are... but you are my entire world! If a bullet flies—"
He stopped abruptly, choked up by the sheer, agonizing horror of the thought. He closed his eyes tightly, turning his face away from the camera as he took long, ragged breaths to steady the sudden panic clawing at his throat.
Seeing him like that—seeing the powerful, untouchable global star completely brought to his knees by pure fear for my safety—tore my heart out of my chest.
"Woonseok, look at me. Please, look at your Butterfly," I pleaded softly, my voice filled with a desperate, anchoring tenderness.
Slowly, painfully, he turned his head back to face the screen, his dark eyes shimmering with an ocean of unshed, terrified tears.
"I am highly trained for this," I told him fiercely, holding his gaze through the distance. "I am not a rookie. I have my team, I have tactical superiority, and I have the absolute precision of the law on my side. I am mainly focusing on my survival because I have a massive reason to come back home. I have you. I am not going to take reckless chances. Do you trust me?"
Woonseok stared at me for a long, agonizing silence, his jaw pulsing. "I trust your skill, Rashi," he whispered roughly, his voice thick with a deep, suffocating sorrow. "It's destiny I don't trust. It's the cruelty of this world that I don't trust."
The heavy, suffocating tension hung between us like a thick fog, the digital screen barely able to contain the sheer emotional gravity of our forbidden reality. I looked at his pained expression, and suddenly, the absurdity of our lives hit me. Here I was, an Indian police officer in pajamas, eating dal-rice with a spoon, casually explaining a high-profile tactical military order to a South Korean pop icon at three in the morning.
A soft, spontaneous laugh suddenly escaped my lips.
Woonseok blinked in total bewilderment, his intense, brooding expression fracturing slightly as he stared at me through the screen. "Why are you laughing, Butterfly? I am losing my mind over here, and you find it amusing?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, holding up my hands defensively, though the laughter was bright and genuinely healing, cutting through the thick panic of the room. "I just realized... I started doing it again. The moment I see your face, I immediately start dumping all of my stressful, heavy police stuff on you first. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend, but I sound like a tactical commander delivering a morning brief!"
Woonseok's lips twitched slightly, the fierce, terrifying anger in his eyes slowly dissolving into a weary, deeply affectionate amusement. He let out a long, quiet sigh, leaning his head back against the sofa as he watched me shake my head in self-reproach.
"You are unbelievable, Officer Rashi," he murmured, his voice softening into a beautiful, low rumble.
"Seriously though, Woon," I said, my voice turning incredibly gentle as I looked at the dark shadows under his eyes. "How was your actual day? Beyond the photos. You must be absolutely bone-tired at this hour. I've taken up so much of your sleeping time already. Should I cut the call right now if you are tired? It's so incredibly late over there, and you have that dance rehearsal in the morning."
I reached my hand out toward the trackpad, genuinely preparing to end the call so he could get the rest his body desperately needed.
"Don't you dare," Woonseok commanded instantly.
His voice wasn't loud, but it held the absolute, unyielding authority of a man who refused to be moved. He leaned forward quickly, his face filling the entire frame of the screen, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, possessive desperation.
"Don't you dare cut this call, Sana," he whispered, his words slow, heavy, and dripping with an indestructible love. "Do you honestly think sleep is more important to me than this? You just told me that after tonight, you are going completely silent for fifteen straight days. You told me I won't see this face or hear this voice for half a month."
He reached his hand up, pressing his long fingers flat against his phone screen, aligning them perfectly with where my face was displayed on his monitor.
"Every single second I get to look at you right now is the fuel that has to keep me alive for the next two weeks," Woonseok declared, his eyes burning with a quiet, eternal fire. "I don't care if it's 3:00 AM. I don't care if I have to dance until my legs collapse tomorrow. If you think I am going to let you go one minute earlier than I have to, you don't know your Mr. Idol at all. Keep talking to me, Butterfly. Tell me everything. Even if it's just the sound of your spoon against the plate... just let me keep you close for as long as the night allows."
I sat there on the edge of my bed, the warmth of his words flooding through my entire system, completely chasing away the cold terror of the coming dawn. I picked up my spoon again, a brilliant, teardrop-stained smile breaking across my face as I prepared to give him every single second of the night we had left.
I scraped the final remnants of the warm dal and rice from my plate, the sound of the metal spoon echoing softly against the stainless steel. Across the thousands of miles separating us, Woonseok watched my every move through the glowing screen of the laptop, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes heavy with an exhausting mix of late-night fatigue and deep, lingering anxiety.
Setting the empty plate down on the edge of my desk, I leaned forward, bringing my face closer to the webcam. I looked directly into his dark, shimmering eyes, letting my playful smile fade into an expression of utmost seriousness.
"Alright, Mr. Idol," I said, my voice gentle but commanding. "I am completely finished with my dinner, just as you ordered. But now, I need you to listen to me very carefully."
Woonseok's eyebrows raised slightly, a faint, curious tilt shaping his lips as he waited for me to continue.
"I promise you, with everything I have, that I will take absolute care of myself out there in the field," I stated, holding his gaze fiercely. "But you have to make a binding promise to me right now. You must promise that you will take care of yourself too. Eat every single meal, get whatever sleep you can between rehearsals, and don't skip your vocal therapy. You will do it, Woonseok, or I am going to get incredibly angry with you."
A small chuckle rumbled in his chest, but I quickly narrowed my eyes, pointing a finger directly at the camera with a playful scowl.
"Don't laugh! You really don't know how terrifying I am in real life when I am on duty," I said teasingly, a mischievous glint in my eye. "Ask my subordinates at the station—when Officer Sana is angry, even the toughest criminals tremble. So don't test my patience from all the way across the ocean, okay?"
Woonseok's smile widened, the deep lines of worry on his forehead smoothing out just a fraction at my banter. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "Understood, Officer. I wouldn't dare risk making you angry."
But then, the playfulness drained from my voice. I leaned back against my headboard, looking at the ironed khaki uniform waiting for me on the bed, its brass medals catching the dim light of my bedroom.
"But seriously, Woon," I said, my voice softening into a raw, earnest whisper. "You have to do your daily work exactly as you always do, without a single ounce of tension. I don't want you messing up your steps in the dance studio or losing your focus during a recording because you are worrying about me. The only thing I truly need from you to survive this case is your unwavering support and your love. Knowing that you love me, knowing that you are waiting for me—that is more than enough to pull me through any darkness."
Woonseok sighed, a deep, emotional sound that vibrated through the speakers. "Sana, how can I not worry when you just told me—"
"Woonseok, listen to me," I interrupted gently, cutting off his mounting panic. "There is something you don't know about me. You look at me and you see your girlfriend, the fan who miraculously ended up in your world. But you don't fully realize that I am a highly trained, elite officer of the law. I have cracked complex syndicates, I have led high-stakes operations, and I have faced down dangerous situations before."
I paused, drawing up my left sleeve slightly. I rotated my arm, exposing the pale, circular scar tissue marking the skin near my wrist.
"Look at this," I murmured, touching the old mark. Woonseok leaned in closer to his screen, his eyes widening as he traced the faint imperfection on my skin. "When I was just a rookie, completely green and full of adrenaline, I walked directly into a massive shootout during a raid. I made a mistake, and I took a live bullet straight through my left hand."
Woonseok let out a sharp, ragged breath, his face turning incredibly pale. He looked at the scar as if it were a physical wound on his own body.
"But look at me now," I said firmly, flexing my fingers smoothly to show him the absolute precision of my movement. "By the time the recovery was over, I trained harder than anyone else in my academy class. I pushed myself to the absolute limit. Day after day, year after year, I got better, sharper, and stronger. Today, I am perfect. My reflexes are flawless. I am not that fragile rookie anymore, Woonseok. I am a commander.
I looked past the laptop screen, my eyes resting on the national emblem pinned squarely to the collar of my police uniform. A deep sense of absolute pride and solemn duty filled my chest, rewriting the exhaustion in my veins into pure steel.
"And you must never forget, Mr. Idol... this is my dream job," I said, my voice ringing with a quiet, powerful conviction. "The day I put on this uniform for the first time, I took a sacred, non-negotiable pledge to protect my country and its citizens with my life. As an IPS officer, it is my absolute duty to surrender myself to my country, to stand as a shield for the innocent, whatever it takes, and whatever the cost may be."
I looked back at him, my heart breaking slightly at the profound sorrow in his eyes, but my resolve never wavered.
"So when I am out there tomorrow, don't think of me as just your girlfriend who needs to be hidden away and protected," I told him, my gaze fierce and proud. "Remember that I am a soldier of the law. I am fighting for my country, just like you are fighting for your music on that global stage. Let me do my duty, Woonseok, just as I let you do yours."
A heavy, emotional silence descended upon the digital connection. Woonseok sat completely frozen on his leather couch, staring at me as if he were seeing me clearly for the very first time. The fear in his dark eyes slowly transformed, replaced by a massive wave of profound awe, reverence, and an all-consuming love that seemed to radiate through the screen.
He closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing the thick lump of emotion in his throat, before opening them to look at me with absolute, unyielding devotion.
"Sana," Woonseok breathed out, his deep voice trembling slightly with the sheer magnitude of what he was feeling. "I have never, ever been more proud to be someone's boyfriend in my entire life."
He reached out, his long fingers gently touching the frame of his camera, his eyes burning with an intense, protective respect.
"I respect your beautiful country, Sana," he declared, his voice a solemn, vibrating vow. "I respect the incredible woman you are, and I deeply respect the sacred duty you carry on your shoulders. I see the steel in you now, my Butterfly. I will not diminish your strength by insulting it with my panic. Go and protect your people. Go and fulfill your pledge to your nation."
He leaned in closer, his handsome face filling the screen, a small, devastatingly proud smile touching his lips. "But remember my promise. I will flood your phone every single day. I will hold your heart safe right here in Seoul. And the exact second your duty is done... your boyfriend will be right here, waiting to pull his brave officer back into his arms."
A profound, beautiful silence settled over the digital connection. Woonseok's words—his absolute respect for my duty and my country—wrapped around my exhausted heart like a shield of pure, indestructible steel.
I looked at him through the laptop screen, feeling a wave of emotion so overwhelming it threatened to spill over into tears again. But this time, they weren't tears of fear or frustration. They were tears of absolute, blinding gratitude.
"Thank you, Woon," I whispered, my voice thick and trembling slightly. "Thank you for giving me this much confidence. Thank you for respecting who I am, entirely."
I let out a soft, watery laugh, the heavy burden of the impending tactical operation feeling just a little bit lighter now that he was standing firmly behind me. Wanting to break the heavy tension that had gripped us for the last hour, I leaned closer to the webcam.
"Good," he breathed, finally allowing a tiny, exhausted fraction of tension to leave his shoulders. He kept his hand pressed against the screen, his eyes softening as he looked at my messy hair and tear-stained cheeks.
"Now," he murmured, his voice returning to that deep, intoxicating velvet that always sent shivers down my spine. "Go to sleep, my beautiful Butterfly. The world needs its strongest officer tomorrow, and I need the love of my life to rest."