Ship 3 smelled the same—warm metal, recycled air, oil and something faintly sweet drifting up from the lower decks—and Vash hadn’t realized how deeply he’d memorized it until it wrapped around him again. His boots echoed down the corridor as he followed Luida, the red of his coat flashing in his peripheral vision like a warning sign he couldn’t take off. She stopped at a door he knew by heart—their door—and said softly, “They’re inside. Just… be honest.” Before he could lose his nerve, the door slid open with a quiet hiss.

The room felt smaller than he remembered, but he barely noticed, because you were standing by the window with the desert light pouring in around you, and in your arms was a little girl. Blond hair caught the glow first, then blue eyes lifted and found him, calm and curious. The world seemed to narrow to that single point as she pointed at him and said,

“Red,”

and his hand instinctively clenched in his coat. He looked at her—really looked—and the resemblance struck instantly: the eyes, the faint hum beneath her skin only he would recognize. He looked at you, his voice breaking before the question could fully form.

“Is that…?”

“She’s two, Vash,” Luida said gently before stepping away.

Two.

JuLai had been two years ago.

The realization hit like a gunshot, and his knees gave out against the metal floor. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, shaking. “I swear I didn’t know. If I had… I would’ve come back.” Light and fire flashed through his mind, a city swallowed whole, and his hands began to tremble as he stared at the ground, unable to lift his eyes to the life you were holding.