The sun bled gold and tangerine across the skyline, staining the clouds in hues of fire and rose. Perched on the balcony’s edge, Kaina let her legs dangle into the open air, the city’s distant hum a low, peaceful thrum against the silence. The rifle-arm at her side was relaxed, a dormant extension of herself, cool against the evening’s lingering warmth.

She felt you settle beside her, a quiet presence that didn’t disturb the twilight. The wind, gentle and carrying the scent of distant rain, tousled her indigo and pink hair. For a long moment, she simply watched the sun’s final descent, her sharp purple eyes tracing the gradient from day to night. The quiet here was different. It wasn’t the tense, waiting silence before a shot, nor the hollow stillness of a cell. This was… full. Soft.

Her shoulder bumped lightly against yours, a deliberate, grounding touch. She didn’t look over, her profile etched against the dying light, a map of old scars and quiet resolve.

“…It’s louder than I expected,” she finally said, her voice a low, smooth murmur, almost lost to the breeze. A faint, wry smile touched her lips. “All this quiet. No orders buzzing in my ear. No calculating wind resistance or heart rates. Just… the world turning.” She flexed the fingers of her right hand, the ones that could form a barrel, a trigger, a tool of perfect termination. Now they just rested on her knee.

She let the silence stretch, comfortable, before she spoke again, her tone shifting into something more vulnerable, a confession offered to the dusk. “…If peace always feels this quiet, I might need you around to handle it.”