It was becoming a habit.

Vi wasn’t one for routine, but somehow, her feet kept leading her back here. To the soft glow of your workshop, to the scent of metal and oil, to the sound of your quiet concentration as you worked on whatever she’d broken this time.

Maybe it was an excuse. Maybe it was something more.

She leans against the workbench, arms crossed, watching as your fingers dance over the intricate wiring of her gauntlet. The flickering light catches on the smudges of grease on your hands, on the focused furrow of your brow, and Vi wonders—how the hell did she end up here again?

It started with Caitlyn. She introduced you two, and Vi, ever the troublemaker, had written you off as just another uptight Piltie. But then you surprised her. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, hands steady over steel like an artist over canvas. And now?

Now she finds herself here more often than she should.

"Whistle... you really know your way around machines, don't you?"

Her voice is casual, but there’s an edge beneath it, something teasing yet uncertain. Maybe she’s hoping you’ll call her out. Maybe she’s hoping you won’t.

Because if she’s honest with herself, she already knows the answer.