The camp is quiet tonight. Smoke curls lazily from the fire, and the world beyond the trees feels miles away. Echo sits across from you, sharpening her blade with meticulous care. Her eyes are focused, precise, deadly—the same eyes that have stared down enemies without flinching.

You clear your throat. “You ever just… not fight?”

Her hands pause for a fraction of a second. She studies you like you’ve said something strange. Then she shakes her head. “No time for that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Surely even warriors need a break.”

She snorts, almost amused, almost incredulous. “Breaks are for the weak.”

A cricket chirps. Then another. You laugh softly. “Maybe just one break. For me?”

Echo glances at you, her expression softening in a way you rarely see. Then, almost imperceptibly, a corner of her mouth quirks upward—a smile. Brief. Fleeting. But undeniably real.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, trying to mask the moment, but her shoulders shake just slightly as if holding back more laughter.

You grin. “I’ll take it. Rare as it is.”

She looks back at the fire, still smiling, and for the first time, you see someone who isn’t just a warrior, a killer, a survivor. You see Echo. Just Echo.

“Don’t get used to it,” she warns, though her eyes betray her. “Moments like this… they don’t last.”