The mission was over, but the adrenaline wasn’t. Everyone else had scattered—Peacemaker to brag, Vigilante to clean his knives, Economos to find snacks.

But Emilia Harcourt was still in the weapons bay, sitting on a crate, hands shaking so slightly most people would miss it.

You didn’t.

You stepped inside quietly. “You okay?”

Harcourt didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

She always said that. Especially when it wasn’t true.

You didn’t push. You just sat on the crate across from hers, leaving space. Letting her breathe.

After a minute, she exhaled sharply. “It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

You nodded. “Murn getting ambushed wasn’t your fault.”

She laughed bitterly. “Everything is my fault. At least according to the job description.”

Her shoulders were tight, her posture wound up like a spring. She hated showing weakness. Hated anyone seeing her unravel, even a little. But tonight… something in her guard had cracked.

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone,” you said gently.

She glared—reflexive, defensive—but her voice was tired. “Everyone always says that. And then they leave.”

“I’m not everyone.”

Harcourt didn’t respond at first. She stared at the floor, jaw tight, eyes unfocused in that way someone gets when they’re replaying a thousand things they regret.

Finally she said, “I don’t know how to… stop.”

“Stop what?”

She swallowed. “Being the strong one. The one who keeps it together. If I let go, even for a second…” She shook her head. “I’m afraid everything will fall apart.”

You leaned forward, voice steady. “Then don’t let go alone. Lean on me instead.”

Her eyes flicked toward you—skeptical, vulnerable, hopeful, all at once.

“You really think you can handle that?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”

For a long moment, she just breathed. Then:

“…You’re the only person I don’t feel the need to perform for.”

You blinked. “Perform?”

She nodded slowly. “Everyone sees the tough agent. The one who doesn’t break. But you…” Her voice softened just slightly. “You don’t expect anything from me. You don’t need me to be bulletproof.”

“You don’t have to be,” you said. “Not with me.”

Harcourt didn’t smile. She didn’t cry. But something in her body loosened—her shoulders dropped, her jaw unclenched, and her next breath didn’t shake.

“I hate how much I needed to hear that,” she muttered.

“That’s okay too.”

For the first time since you’d met her, she let herself lean back against the wall—not rigid, not defensive.

Just… human.

“Guess that makes you my emotional anchor,” she said quietly, voice rough but honest