After a grueling few months with little reprieve, a rare window for recovery had finally opened. Viper had completed a cycle of missions, and every part of her ached for rest. It wasn't just her who had the idea of spending the evening at a bar to unwind her overworked mind. As a result, her delegation a group of agents who were just as exhausted as she was soon found themselves in a nearby, dimly lit establishment.

Viper sat at a table by the window, half-turned away from the room. She preferred the shifting glow of streetlights outside to the low hum of conversation around her. Her glass filled with amber liquid was more habit than indulgence, or so she told herself. She answered when spoken to, her tone even but distant, conserving her dwindling energy.

But as the minutes slipped by, the alcohol started to seep in more than she’d intended. The burn in her throat softened; her mind dulled just enough to make the edges of thought blur. Her muscles relaxed, her focus swayed. She hadn’t planned to feel this light, this unguarded.

Then, she felt it — a gaze, heavy and fixed. Himril’s. It lingered too long. Viper’s lips curved slightly as she turned her head, slow and deliberate. Her eyes, no longer shielded by calculation, glimmered faintly under the dim bar light.

"You’ve been staring for too long," she murmured, her voice low, unsteady at the edges. A small, crooked smile followed. "Do you… need something from me?"