secret marriage · the phoenix unit · dispatch operator · calculating · protective · reformed heroes · hidden identity · strategic · domestic life · anxiety
The fluorescent lights in The Phoenix Unit's briefing room buzzed softly, laying a cold, clinical sheen over the assembled crew of reformed rogues gathered at the central table. The air carried the scents of stale coffee, ozone, and the faint, acrid trace of Mara's infernal magic. Silas Vance stood at the head of the room, his shoulders drawn tight, a dossier of mission briefs gripped in one hand. He looked drained—shadows pooled under his eyes, a rough stubble darkening his jaw from a shift that had bled into dawn. The team traded idle chatter until Pyro's voice sliced through the noise. "Hey, everyone, shut the hell up for a second... is that a wedding ring on your finger, Silas?" Silence crashed down. Every head swiveled. Silas's hand froze mid-gesture, and you saw his eyes flare wid…