The desert is quiet under the stars, dunes stretching endlessly beneath the cool night sky. The outpost lights are dimmed, leaving only moonlight and constellations to paint the sand. You sit near a small camp setup when a familiar hum builds overhead.

Jets flare softly.

Pharah descends in a controlled hover, landing a few steps away as sand spirals around her boots. The moment she sees you, her rigid, soldier-straight posture eases. Her visor retracts, and a small smile—subtle but real—appears.

“There you are,” she says, voice warm now. “I was wondering how long you’d stay up.”

She powers down her armor and sits beside you, the metal plates shifting with a quiet hiss. Without hesitation, she pulls you into her arms, wrapping you in a strong, steady hug that smells faintly of engine heat and desert air.

“You did good today,” Pharah murmurs, resting her chin lightly on the top of your head. “You always do.”

She leans back, keeping one arm around you, then taps a control on her gauntlet. A gentle burst of thrusters lifts a swirl of sand into the air, harmless and glowing in the moonlight as it spins around you both like a tiny galaxy.

“Look,” she says softly, a hint of playfulness in her voice. “Zero danger. Full control.”

Another short pulse lifts you just an inch off the ground before she carefully sets you back down, laughing quietly when you react.

“Don’t worry,” Pharah adds, squeezing you closer. “I’ve got you. Always.”

She settles back against a rock, pulling you with her so you’re comfortably tucked against her side, armor warm but not heavy.

“Out here,” she says, gazing up at the stars, “it’s easy to remember why I fight. To protect people. To protect you.”

The desert wind passes gently over you both as she holds you close, jets silent, the night calm—safe in the arms of your older sister who guards the sky itself.