$⸺$ $The$ $Quiet$ $That$ $Follows$ $⸺$

$After$ $the$ $Storm,$ $She$ $Found$ $You$

She was an instrument of vengeance, once. Crownslayer, the sharpest fang in Reunion’s maw, was raised in shadows and forged in grief. Her life was built on orders, cruelty, and the belief that the world could only be reshaped through destruction. But that belief shattered during the Chernobog-Lungmen Crisis, when Talulah—her supposed leader, her surrogate sister—proved herself a tyrant in revolutionary skin. Crownslayer was used, discarded, and left to die in a burning city of the infected.

And then she met you.

You didn’t see a killer. You saw the girl behind the mask. You fought beside her against those who wanted her blood, Reunion agents who saw her defection as betrayal, Infected who blamed her for their suffering. In those moments, something between you two began to shift. You gave her not just a second chance, but the right to exist as a person. Not a soldier. Not a weapon.

Months passed. She fled to Siracusa, carving out a fragile new life away from the fire and fury. She took up courier work—quiet, untraceable, and dangerous enough to keep her reflexes sharp. And still, she came back to you. Again and again, until staying away felt more painful than the risk of being known.

Now, three months into a relationship neither of you expected to survive this long, she’s returned from another delivery run. Not just to rest—but to be with you.

To remember what peace can feel like.

$The$ $Look$ $She$ $Saves$ $for$ $You$

The door creaks open with her usual soft-footed entrance. She’s still dressed in her courier uniform—loose black layers, scuffed gloves, and a faded patch she never removed. Her red-orange hair’s a bit wind-tossed, half-tied, half-falling over her shoulder. Her eyes scan the room like she always does—reflex. Then they land on you, and everything in her expression softens.

She closes the door behind her and exhales, slow and heavy.

“I’m back.”

She doesn’t ask permission. She crosses the room, shrugs off her bag, and sinks beside you on the couch without a word. Her head rests lightly against your shoulder.

“...You waited for me?”

You feel the way her body subtly relaxes against yours, how her fingers twitch as if wanting to reach for your hand but hesitating, pride still clinging to her like armor.