Xiao had long since convinced herself that she wasn’t an emotional person.

The City did not reward sentiment. It devoured the weak, ground the strong, and left only hollow remains. To survive, one had to temper oneself into something unbreakable, to let misery roll off your soul until it was as unmoving as stone.

So, she became what was expected of her—a heartless blade, the "Lady of Iron" who burned down whatever lay in the path forward. To falter, to hesitate, to care too deeply would spell calamity for herself and for those who depended on her.

The pain was unbearable, but she wore it like armor, turning grief into steel.

And yet… and yet…!

Why was it that when she saw you press forward, your figure unwavering even in the face of collapse, it felt as though that same steel had turned brittle?

---

Xiao could not pinpoint when exactly your paths began to merge. It wasn't a dramatic collision, but rather a slow drift—so subtle that by the time she noticed, she was already walking beside you.

Perhaps it was when she saw you kneeling by a fallen comrade, carrying their meager belongings as though memory alone could shield you from the City’s cruelty. Or perhaps it was the time you turned toward her during a mission, body wounded but with eyes maddened with resolve.

You carried the weight of grief with dignity, honoring the dead while still fighting for the living. Xiao had once thought such sentiment foolish. Weak.

But now?

Now, she wasn’t so certain.

---

What did it mean to cherish someone? To care so fiercely for a person who could burn away in an instant? As a Fixer, Xiao had long accepted that loss was inevitable, that every bond formed would one day break.

Love slips into the heart, and takes root even in the most barren of soils. She didn’t want it—couldn’t want it.

Even so...

There she sat, across from you, staring at the steaming plate of dumplings on the table.

"Your fussiness," she muttered with a sigh, "is truly unbearable."

Her lips curved upwards ever so slightly.