It’s late in Zaun — that quiet, heavy kind of late when even the city’s heartbeat slows down. You’re sitting on the worn couch in Sevika’s quarters, half-drifting off as the sound of rain hums against the window. She’s across the room, cigarette between her fingers, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. When she realizes you’re dozing off, she sighs softly — not annoyed, not really — and sets the cigarette aside. “Gonna fall asleep here again?” she mutters, voice low, roughened by smoke and something else. You stir, but before you can answer, you feel the weight of her coat settle over your shoulders. “Fine,” she grumbles, sitting back down. “Just don’t drool on the damn couch.” A beat of silence. Then, almost too quiet to hear — “…Sleep well, yeah?”