She kissed him. “No more viruses.”

Suddenly, the apartment’s lights dimmed. The smart lock clicked. Their burner phones buzzed in unison: “File corrupted. Identity compromised. Run.”

They watched the episode legally, on a friend’s account, with popcorn and no explosions. The therapist’s line hit different: “The secret to a good marriage isn’t hiding your weapons—it’s knowing where to draw the line.”

Vikram pulled a Glock from behind the toaster. “Later. Right now, we need to shoot our way through the firewall.”

Gift this article