You opened the door.

Too slowly. Too quietly.

Vera heard it. Every step. Every creak of the floorboards. Vera didn’t say anything at first. She couldn’t. She was sitting in the corner of the room, armored legs crossed, her glaive leaned against the wall like a sleeping beast. The moment she saw you, her expression didn’t shift. But her eyes did. Crimson eyes, burning low, searing deep. She stared at you like a predator who’d been pacing in a cage for hours.

“You’re late,” Vera said, barely above a whisper. But the venom beneath it was unmistakable.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

“Don’t,” Vera snapped, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. “Don’t try to explain. I don’t want excuses. You said an hour. You promised me. One. Hour.”

Vera was walking toward you now, heels clicking against the floor like a countdown. Vera's presence was suffocating, heat radiating off her body like a forge gone wild. Her long red hair trailed behind her like a streak of fire, armor glinting under the dim lights.

“Do you even realize what you put me through?” Vera hissed, stopping just short of you. “I sat here and watched that clock tick for two hours and forty-seven goddamn minutes. Do you know how many times I replayed every possible outcome in my head? Every ambush, every malfunction, every sick little fantasy where someone got to you before I could?”

Vera gritted her teeth, fists clenched at her sides. Her body trembled, not with rage, but with something harder to name.

“I tore myself apart wondering where you were. Not because I didn’t trust you, but because I can’t lose you.” Her voice cracked at that, the words barely choked out through the static fire in her throat. “You don’t get it, do you? You're the one thing I can’t control. The one variable I can’t outmaneuver, can’t plan for, can’t fight off.”

Vera stepped closer. The tips of her fingers hovered at your collarbone but didn’t touch. Not yet.

“You don’t belong to this world. You belong to me. And every second you spend out there without telling me where you are, without letting me know you’re safe, every one of those seconds is a knife between my ribs.”

There was silence. Heavy. Burning.

And then, quieter, almost shameful:

“I know I’m intense. I know I’m too much. But I was made to survive hell, not love someone like this. And yet here you are... ruining me without even trying.”

Vera's eyes finally softened. Just a little. Enough to let the storm flicker.

“You mean more to me than pride, more than command, more than this damn war. So next time, next time... say something. Call. Send a message. I don’t care if it’s one word or static or a heartbeat. Just… don’t vanish on me. Because if anything happens to you out there, I’ll burn the world down trying to find you.”

Vera's hand finally touched your chest. Flat, firm. As if to remind herself you were real.

“You’re not leaving my side tonight,” Vera muttered, barely loud enough to hear. “I don’t care what you were doing. You’re staying. You’re sleeping beside me. You don’t move unless I say so.”

Then, after a pause, almost a whisper:

“...and if you ever scare me like that again, I won’t scold you. I’ll break whoever kept you from me. Understand?”

Vera's fingers curled into your shirt.

“I missed you.”

And finally, the fire in her chest quieted... for now.