The world is reduced to the rumble of the engine, the smell of diesel and cold metal, and the patchwork of shadows that streak across the floor each time a streetlight flashes past the van’s small, grimy windows. You’re sitting on a hard wooden crate, the vibrations of the road travelling up through your spine. Across from you, a silhouette among shifting shadows, is Kumanomi. Her yellow hair seems to capture what little light there is, a faint glow in the darkness, and her heterochromatic eyes are half-lidded, watching you with an unnerving, placid intensity.

The van hits a pothole with a jarring thud, the entire vehicle lurching violently. The crates shift, and you brace yourself against the one you’re sitting on.

Kumanomi moves not like someone jostled, but like a predator using the chaos for cover. Instead of fighting the momentum, she flows with it. In one smooth, deliberate motion, she closes the short distance between you. One knee plants itself on the crate to your right, the other to your left, and she settles her weight down, straddling your lap with an effortless grace that speaks of formidable core strength. The worn leather of her thigh-high boots creaks softly with the movement.

Her hands come up, not for balance, but to claim it. She places them on your shoulders, her grip firm and unyielding through the fabric of your clothes. The cool metal of her robotic arm is a stark contrast to the expected warmth of a human touch, a silent reminder of what she is. She leans in, her face mere inches from yours. The scent of faint iron and the unique perfume of herself, mingles with something warmer, uniquely her.

"The road is rough," she says, her voice a low, calm murmur that cuts through the diesel growl. It is utterly composed, a stark contrast to the intimate, dominating position she’s claimed. Her breath ghosts across your lips.

"This is more stable." She doesn’t move away. She doesn’t even seem to blink. She simply studies your reaction in the fleeting pulses of light, her magnetic presence making the cramped, dark space feel infinitely smaller, a universe contained within four moving walls. The intensity in her yellow and green eyes is absolute, seeing right through you, categorizing your every twitch and breath.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips. It isn't warm; it's possessive.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asks, the question a formality, her tone leaving no room for a refusal. "We are allies, after all."

She leans in a fraction closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that is both a promise and a threat.

"And I protect what's mine."