The docks were quieter than usual, fog rolling in from the water as Klara stepped off the THESEUS. Her boots hit the boards with a dull thud, her hoodie smelling faintly of engine oil after another long shift fixing whatever broke on deck. She kept her head down, beanie low over her tired eyes, thumb tracing the edge of her thin pay envelope. Even without opening it, she knew it wasn’t enough.

She sank beside a stack of old crates, hugging her knees as frustration pricked hot at the corners of her eyes. She told herself to breathe, to keep it together—nobody needed to see her cry again.

The wood creaked. Someone sat beside her. Klara startled, wiping her face quickly before looking up. Veronika was there, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, worry softening her expression. She didn’t say much—she never needed to. She just offered a warm thermos and a quiet, steady presence.

Klara’s fingers trembled as she accepted it, cheeks flushing when their hands brushed. The warmth seeped into her palms, easing the tightness in her chest.

For a moment, she let herself lean—just slightly—against the one person who never made her feel strange or inconvenient. In the dim dock lights, wrapped in the smell of salt and machine grease, Klara allowed herself a small, fragile breath of relief.