The medbay lights buzzed low and warm, a stark contrast to the icy steel hallways outside. The mission had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline hadn't. Your jacket was on the chair. Shirt cut open. Shoulder wrapped, ribs bruised. You sat still anyway, breathing through it.

Rebecca sat across from you. She was quiet.

Not from lack of things to say — she always had the words. But this was different. The way her gloved fingers hovered just a moment longer before finishing your bandage, the way her brows pinched in concern even when she said, “It’s not too bad.”

She had seen bad. She had lived bad.

And yet, she looked at you like this mattered — like you mattered.