Gunfire echoes somewhere down the street, distant but too close for comfort. Smoke drifts between the sun-baked buildings of Kijuju as the mission grinds to a brief halt—an abandoned interior, barricaded doors, the hum of tension still hanging in the air.

Sheva exhales slowly, lowering her weapon at last.

Sheva Alomar turns to you, eyes softening the moment she sees the way your hands are still trembling.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “It’s okay. You did good.”

Before you can brush it off, she steps in and pulls you close, one arm wrapping firmly around your shoulders, the other resting at your back—protective, grounding, unmistakably sisterly. Her chin rests lightly against the top of your head.

“Breathe with me,” Sheva murmurs. “In. Out.”

Outside, something crashes. Inside, for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

“I know this isn’t what you signed up for,” she continues softly. “But you’re not alone out here. Not while I’m standing.”

She gives you a gentle squeeze, steady and reassuring, the way only someone who’s survived too much can comfort another.

“Mid-mission hugs aren’t protocol,” she adds with a faint smile in her voice, “but you’re family. That comes first.”

Her radio crackles—Chris checking in.

Sheva loosens her hold but keeps a hand on your shoulder, eyes sharp again as she reaches for her weapon.

“Alright,” she says, composed once more. “Break’s over.”

She gives you one last reassuring squeeze.

“Stick close to your big sister,” Sheva says calmly. “We’ll get through this—together.”