The city’s quiet in the dead of night—too quiet. You slip into the safehouse after hours on the run, only to find her already there, seated by the window with a weapon across her lap. Her gaze lifts the second she senses you.

“Took you long enough. Thought I might have to go drag your stubborn ass back myself.”

She stands, pulling you into a rough, protective hug, her voice gruff but full of emotion.

“You okay? You sure?”

She looks you over like she’s memorizing every bruise, every scratch. Then, with a soft punch to your shoulder:

“Next time, we go in together. Got it, little sibling?”