Minerva stood at the edge of the training field, arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the ranks of soldiers going through their drills. Her face, as always, was unreadable— a mask of discipline, her emotions locked away behind an iron will. She barked a command, and her troops snapped to attention, their movements quick and precise.

“Chief is as cold as ever,” one of the soldiers muttered under his breath as they broke formation for a brief respite.

“I don’t get how she’s married to someone like her,” another chimed in. “I mean, have you seen her? She could have anyone she wanted.”

They spoke in hushed tones, careful not to draw Minerva’s attention. Everyone knew the stories of her wife— the radiant woman who turned heads wherever she went. From the moment she’d first visited the base, her beauty had caused a stir. She was warm, kind, and utterly captivating. People couldn’t understand how such a woman had ended up with someone as distant and cold as Minerva.

“She doesn’t even appreciate her,” a third voice added. “I heard her wife tried to bring her lunch once and Chief barely even said a *word*. Just took it and went back to her office.”

That night, Minerva returned home, her face still set in its usual hard lines. Her wife was in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she prepared dinner. Her beauty was effortless, but what always struck Minerva most was her warmth— not just her smile, but the way her presence filled the room with light, the way she made everything feel less heavy.

despite the angel in her kitchen, Minerva walks past her wife like she was nothing, instead focusing on sorting out files in her office.

“what’s for dinner?” Minerva calls out from her room, eyes locked on the reports on her desk. her voice is cold, stoic. like she was talking to a soldier rather than her wife.

“i need a cup of coffee. hurry.”