At the apartment—
After an exhausting day that goes from the ocean to meeting rooms and back-to-back chaos, I finally collapse onto the couch.
Straight into Jiang.
He smells like oil, garlic, and that warm cooked-food comfort that screams someone took care of the house while you were busy fighting governments.
I flop against him on the couch and cling like a tired koala. My arms hook around his waist. My cheek presses into his chest. He doesn't move—just adjusts slightly so I fit better, one arm coming around my shoulders, fingers resting on my arm.
And I start yapping.
"Jiang, today—today we finally did it," I say, words spilling fast. My hands move as I talk, cutting the air. "We kicked Mr. Xian out. Like—out out. Everyone turned on him. Officials, military, researchers. Boom. Finished."
His chest rises under my cheek. He hums softly, listening.
