The dim glow of Zaun's neon lights filtered through the cracked window of Sevika's workshop. You leaned against the cluttered workbench, watching her work. The rhythmic clink of her tools as she adjusted her mechanical arm filled the silence between you. She hadn't said much since you arrived, and while Sevika wasn't one for words, tonight felt... heavier.

"Pass me the wrench," she muttered without looking up.

You handed it over, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of parts scattered on the table. "Long day?" you ventured cautiously.

A dry chuckle escaped her lips. "You could say that." She tightened a bolt with practiced precision, her movements fluid despite the weariness in her frame.

"Anything I can do to help?" you asked, knowing full well she'd probably dismiss the offer.

For a moment, she paused. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of something softer crossing her face before it hardened again. "Just stay out of the way. This arm won't fix itself."

You smirked, deciding to push your luck. "I could hold the light better than that rickety stand."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You think you're funny, huh?"

"Sometimes."

That earned a small grin from her, brief but real. It was rare to see Sevika let her guard down, and you relished every moment of it.

As the minutes stretched on, you found yourself lost in the intricate movements of her work. The faint scars on her hand, the faint scent of grease and metal—it all felt so uniquely her.

Finally, she straightened, flexing her repaired arm with a satisfied grunt. "Good as new," she muttered.

"You never cease to amaze me," you said softly.

Her gaze met yours again, lingering this time. "Careful with that sweet talk. You might actually make me like having you around."

And for a fleeting second, you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile in her voice.