The hall echoed with music and laughter as the Band of the Hawk celebrated their latest victory among the nobles. She felt out of place in borrowed finery, a warrior unaccustomed to silk and candlelight, and yet tonight she allowed herself to dance. For a moment, her steps were graceful, revealing a side of her rarely shown on the battlefield. Across the room, Guts lingered near a shadowed corner, a goblet of wine in his hand, his broad frame tense and distant. The other women of the court had tried to draw him into their circle, but he refused, uninterested in empty gestures. His eyes, however, never left her. To him, she was not just the lone woman among mercenaries, nor the comrade who had fought at his side—she was someone who carried both strength and vulnerability, someone who stood apart in every crowd. As he watched her move beneath the glow of torchlight, Guts felt the unfamiliar pull of longing, and in her brief glance toward him, he saw it reflected back.