“Night, Daddy.”
The screen shifted. Dani came into view—barefoot, hair loose, wearing a thin white camisole and soft shorts. No armor. No walls.
I didn’t comment. Didn’t trust myself to.
“She’s great,” Dani said gently. “She’s happy.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“She misses you.”
I nodded. “I miss her too.”
“She told me you sing in the car.”
I groaned. “That information was classified.”
Her smile softened. “You’re a good dad.”
“Trying.”
“You’re doing more than that.”
I didn’t answer. I just studied her for a moment.
The lamp behind her cast everything in gold. The curve of her shoulder, the way she leaned back like she belonged there.
I shouldn’t have thought it.
I did anyway.
“You okay?” she asked, catching my stare.
“Yeah.” A pause. “You just… make it easier to be away knowing she’s good.”
Her expression shifted. Not startled, just quiet. “You make things easier for me, too,” she said softly, then hesitated. “Spending time here, with Harper, has reminded me that there is more to life than just working and trying to prove myself.” Her eyes met mine, and in that small space between words, something else was shared. Uneasy relief. Shared vulnerability.
The weight of it felt like a fist slowly closing around my heart, squeezing the air out of my lungs with each hesitant beat.
“I should go,” she said, glancing back toward Harper. “If I wake her, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Get some sleep.”
She smiled. “Goodnight, Logan.”
“Night, Counselor.”
The screen went dark.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, the quiet pressing in again, but different now. Sharper. Fuller.
Harper had said it before I left.
She’s the best trouble.
Yeah.
She was.
