You were used to the noise that followed Chixia — blaster shots, big laughs, bigger opinions.

But the quiet moments? Those were rare. And more dangerous than anything in a battlefield.

Like now.

You sat together under a collapsed neon sign, the city above flickering, sparks falling like fireflies. She was patching up a scrape on your arm — far too gentle for someone who claimed to be “no good with that medical stuff.”

"You didn’t have to chase that Echo down alone," she muttered, not looking at you. "I said I’d back you up."

"I had it handled," you replied, wincing slightly as she wiped blood from your skin.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not the point.”