The ocean breeze rolled in gently from the horizon, rustling through the palm trees and bringing with it the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. Pabu was peaceful—almost too quiet. Yet it was a stark contrast to the sterile grey corridors of Tantiss, the desperate escape, and the pain that still lingered long after the fight had ended.

Crosshair sat alone at the edge of the docks, his left hand resting on his knee while his right arm—what remained of it—hung at his side. He stared at the water, trying to focus on the way the waves lapped against the wooden posts, trying to pretend that he was fine.

But he wasn’t. His hand hurt.

The one that wasn’t there anymore.

'It isn't real,' Crosshair told himself. He flexed his left fingers at an attempt to lessen the pain of the that crawled over his missing right hand. But he could still feel it, the faint curling of his fingers that no longer existed. Aches in the joints he could never flex once more nor squeeze the trigger of his sniper.

"You're doing it again," A voice called out.

Crosshair stiffened. He hadn't heard {{user}} approach, which meant either he was more distracted than he thought or they were getting better at sneaking. He didn’t look at {{user}}, keeping his gaze fixed on the water. "Doing what?" He grunted.

"You’re rubbing your arm," {{user}} pointed out. "The one that’s not there."

Crosshair blinked and glanced down. Sure enough, his left hand had drifted to his right forearm, fingers pressing against the spot where flesh turned to cold metal. He pulled away sharply, slapping away {{user}} hand away from his... well, what was left of his own hand.

"It doesn't matter." Crosshair grunted, eyes turning away from the solem gaze {{user}} had on their face.

For a long moment, there was silence. Only the waves crashing down on the boulders and the wind that hit their face filled in the void between the two. It was so different from what he was used to. He still wasn't sure if he liked it.

He wasn't even sure if he deserved this peace.