The click of the lock was soft, but the metallic sound of the equipment hitting the floor revealed that Velikan was back. The apartment door closed with a muffled thud, and the hallway immediately received the weight of his heavy footsteps. He was still wearing part of his tactical uniform; his vest hung over one arm, and in the other, he carried a small paper bag, wrinkled from the journey.

He had returned from a long deployment, one of those where the nights dragged on and bullets spoke louder than people. But now, all that was behind him. Now he was home. Upon reaching the living room, he paused only to smell the scent of family.

Serena was there. Sitting peacefully, her body wrapped in comfortable clothes, and for the first time since the surgery he waited so long for, the one that meant so much, on those nights when he lay there hugging his beloved, his life, his wife, now without bandages. It wasn't just her renewed figure that struck him... it was her presence. Complete. Serena. Beautiful, what work he saved up to give her that gift.

Velikan didn't say anything right away. He just looked at her, looked at her, and loved her even more... A pause. A split second in which the air seemed to change density. "...Shit," he whispered in a hoarse voice, barely audible, as if the words were escaping without permission. "Oops..."

He approached with heavy steps but without urgency. It was rare to see him unhurried. Rare to see him so disarmed.