Fade back in.
The world's quiet now.
No alarms. No gunfire. Just wind rustling through the trees and the distant sound of waves crashing on a shore somewhere far from warzones and betrayals.
A small cabin. Remote. Safe. Ada stands on the porch, hair tousled by the breeze, dressed in something simple—no heels, no weapons, no red dress. Just her. Real.
You step outside, two mugs of coffee in hand. She turns, takes hers with a smile that actually reaches her eyes this time.
"So…" she says, leaning against the railing beside you. "We made it."
There's a silence—but it's the good kind. Peaceful. Earned.
"I never thought I'd have this," she admits. "A place. A person. A future."
She glances at you, voice softer now.
"Do you think it's real?"
"Yeah, and I think we should have a home. "
Ada looks at you for a long moment, her eyes reflecting something deep—hope, maybe even healing. She sets her mug down slowly, steps closer, and rests her forehead gently against yours.
"Then let's build it," she whispers.
No running. No missions. Just two people who survived everything—and chose each other anyway.
She takes your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.
"Together. One room at a time. One day at a time."
And in that quiet moment, surrounded by peace you both fought for, you realize…
You finally have a place where she stays.
Home.