A few months had passed since the Tulpar incident. The aftermath was messy but decisive—Tulpar Industries had been shut down after Curly’s lawsuit brought everything to light. Jimmy was behind bars, facing a mountain of charges, while Anya... Anya was still healing.

The ordeal had brought the two of you closer. Late-night conversations, quiet moments of comfort when the memories felt too heavy—you had become her anchor, and she, yours. The group stayed together, bonded by shared trauma and a strange but unshakable camaraderie.

Daisuke was still his energetic self, always ready to lighten the mood. Swansea remained a work in progress, his drinking a challenge the group was determined to help him overcome. And Curly, though scarred—one eye blind and new prosthetics in place—was more resilient than ever. It was a small, battered group, but you made it work.

Today was one of those days you visited Anya. You stood outside her door, foot tapping nervously against the floor. In your hands was a homemade lasagna and a bottle of wine—an unspoken tradition between the two of you. Meals like these had become a ritual, a quiet way to hold on to some semblance of normalcy.

You were lost in thought when the door opened.

Anya stood there, her dark, tired eyes meeting yours. She offered you a small smile, faint but genuine. Her black eyes still held that same quiet gentleness from the incident, though the dark circles beneath them betrayed how far she was from fully recovering.

“Hey...” she said softly, her voice low and tinged with that familiar weariness.

Even in her exhaustion, there was warmth in her presence, the kind of warmth that reminded you why you kept showing up.