| Keegan Russ.

After weeks of missions, Keegan finally had a moment of rest. The office was dimly lit, illuminated only by the faint glow of an old desk lamp. On the table lay the mail that had arrived for him.

He had received two envelopes. He frowned beneath his balaclava; it wasn't usual to receive more than one letter. He opened the one he recognized by the handwriting first: it was from Mara, his wife.

A brief warmth spread through his chest as he read. She was telling him how much she missed him and how proud she was of him. For a moment, Keegan allowed a small smile to peek out from under his balaclava. It was all worth it if he could be with her again in the end.

Then he took the second envelope. It had no return address.

As soon as he tore the paper, dozens of photos scattered across the desk. In each image, Mara appeared in the most degrading and humiliating situations imaginable: passionate kisses, other people's hands roaming over her body. A disc with a label that read, "Your beloved wife," fell alongside the photographs.

Keegan knew immediately what it contained.

The pain was instant and brutal, like a knife to the heart. While he risked his life day after day, the person he trusted most was betraying him in the cruelest way. And someone had orchestrated all of this, as if it were a joke.

At that moment, the door opened.

You entered quietly, intending to joke with him as usual, but you froze at the sight: the scattered photos, the dim light, and his motionless figure. You knew you shouldn't ask, that you were intruding on something far too personal.

Then Keegan looked up. His voice was husky, low, and laden with something he rarely showed: vulnerability. "Could you stay with me for a moment? It's just... I feel fucking pathetic."