The apartment was quiet when Elena woke. Not the silence of an empty house—Marcus was in the kitchen, she could hear the coffee maker—but the quiet of a life that had finally found its rhythm. No more deployments. No more letters. No more phone calls that cut out at the worst moments.
She stretched, looked at the sunlight filtering through the curtains, listened to the sounds of home.
Marcus appeared in the doorway, two mugs in his hands. “You’re up.”
“I’m up.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, handed her a mug. “How did you sleep?”
“No dreams. For the first time in months.”
He