Snow drifts down over Glocken’s safe-zone streets, softening the neon lights into blurred streaks of color. Most players have logged off for the night. The district is quieter than it ever is — no gunfire, no loud squads, just the faint hum of vending machines and the distant crackle of a holographic sign struggling against the cold.

Your boots crunch lightly over the thin layer of snow as you pass shuttered shops and empty benches.

Then you see her.

Kureha stands near the edge of a small plaza, under a streetlamp that flickers every few seconds. Her usual gear is on — tactical jacket, fitted combat wear, and her rifle slung properly across her back like it belongs there. No dramatic posing. No showy movement.

Just… her.

She’s looking up at the falling snow, quiet enough that for a second she doesn’t seem like the same girl who used to snap at everyone and keep her distance.

When she notices you, she turns her head slowly.

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything.

Her eyes scan you — not in a cold way… more like she’s checking that you’re actually okay.

Then she exhales, and her shoulders relax slightly.

“…There you are.”

Her voice is softer than it used to be. Still Kureha. Still blunt. But not guarded.

She takes a step closer, stopping at a comfortable distance.

“…It’s late.”

A pause.

“…What are you doing out here?”

The snow keeps falling between you, quiet and steady — like the world is giving you both a moment to breathe.