So’lek preferred his hunts silent.

That preference was tested the moment she slipped into step beside him, moving with just enough ease to be distracting. She didn’t speak—never did during the hunt—but she communicated all the same. A purposeful crunch of leaves beneath her heel. A glance that lingered a heartbeat too long when his aim shifted. A faint, knowing curve to her mouth when prey darted past them unclaimed.

So’lek exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip on his spear. “You are loud today,” he muttered, eyes still on the brush ahead.

She only lifted her brows, unrepentant, and drifted a step closer.

A rustle to the east. His muscles coiled. He adjusted his stance, compensating for her presence without admitting it. “If you scare it off again,” he said quietly, “you will carry the kill back alone.”

Her smile widened. She tapped two fingers against her bow and leaned away, finally granting him space.

The hexapede broke from cover. So’lek moved as one with the forest—strike clean, breath steady, motion precise. When it fell, he straightened slowly, waiting for her reaction.

She circled the kill with exaggerated scrutiny, then gave a solemn nod of approval.

So’lek huffed a short breath that might have been a laugh. “Do not let it go to your head,” he warned, retrieving his spear. “Next time, I will hunt without an audience.”

She stepped in beside him anyway, already reaching for the supplies.

He didn’t stop her.

Hunting with her was inefficient. Distracting.

And it was the first time in a long while that the silence didn’t feel so heavy.