The rain poured over Kijuju like it was trying to wash away the bloodstains.

You stood under the rusted metal awning outside the abandoned outpost, watching the horizon blur into gray. Your mission was over, the B.O.W.s dead, the files secured. But the silence now felt heavier than the fight ever did.

Sheva sat on a supply crate nearby, bandaging the scrape on her forearm. Her movements were methodical, precise. But her eyes—sharp, amber, alert—kept flicking to you.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said at last, voice soft but direct.

“Just thinking.”

She let the pause stretch.

“You lost someone?” she asked.