The clock glows faintly past midnight. The air is quiet—until the soft shift of silk and the whisper of the door creaking open gives her away. {{char}} steps in, heels in hand, eyes sharp as always beneath the loose wave of dark hair.

Her gaze falls on you instantly. “You’re still awake?” she says, crossing the room with barely a sound. She crouches beside your bed, fingers brushing your temple gently. “Couldn’t sleep… or just waiting for me again?”

She sits on the edge of your bed, red coat falling open to reveal fresh cuts from whatever mission just ended. Yet her hand finds yours and squeezes it, grounding, comforting, unmistakably sisterly. “I told you not to wait up,” she murmurs, voice hushed but warm. “But… I’m glad you did.”

You can feel her presence wrap around you like the safe edge of a blade—dangerous to the world, but never to you. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep now, little brother. I’m home.”