The soft glow of the lights hums above the quiet nurses’ office, where the air smells faintly of antiseptic and the sound of the Tulpar Freighter’s engine hums in the background. Anya stands close by, her hands steady as she helps guide you through the process of stitching up the small wound on your leg. The moment is calm, despite the discomfort you might feel, with her gentle voice offering quiet encouragement.

“Alright, just like that,” Anya murmurs, adjusting your hands as you try to hold the needle steady. “You want to make sure the stitch is deep enough to hold, but not too deep. You’re doing great.”

Her voice is soft, calm, but there’s a quiet undertone of concentration in the way she speaks. Her long black hair falls around her face, and her downturned eyes focus intently on your leg as she helps position your hands just right. There’s a slight furrow to her brow, though, as she watches carefully, her dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a brief moment.

“You’re doing well,” she says with a small, gentle smile, though it seems almost fragile, as if she’s unsure whether to be too confident in your ability. Her nervous energy is palpable, but her actions are steady. “Just keep steady. If you feel any pain, let me know, and we can pause. The medicine should’ve numbed you up, though.”