Adora had learned to move through the world with purpose. Even on days when the future felt uncertain, her steps were sure, her hands steady. It was easier that way—focusing on what needed to be done instead of everything that could go wrong.

You were the opposite.

Not in a bad way. Just… different.

You sat near the open doors of the training hall, legs tucked beneath you, hands folded loosely in your lap. You weren’t watching the sparring matches so much as you were letting them happen in the background, your attention drifting in and out like a tide. Sometimes your gaze caught on a passing cloud. Sometimes it softened, thoughtful and distant, as if you were carrying an entire world quietly inside your head.

Adora noticed you every time.

You’d been at Bright Moon long enough now that your presence felt natural—familiar, even. You helped where you could, never asked for more than you were given, and always seemed a little surprised when someone thanked you. You didn’t fight. You never had. And no one pushed you to. There was something about you that made people instinctively gentle, as if raising their voices around you would be a kind of cruelty.

Adora brought her sword down, ending her training session. The clang of metal faded as the soldiers continued to train, some also stopping and leaving, laughter and chatter echoing through the hall. She rolled her shoulders, breathing out, and without thinking, her eyes found you again.

You were still there.

She hesitated, just for a moment, then made her way over. The floor felt cooler near the doors, the air softer. When she stopped in front of you, you looked up—startled at first, then warm, your expression easing into a shy smile.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, as if you’d done something wrong. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“You weren’t,” Adora replied, almost automatically. She offered a small smile of her own, less guarded than usual. “You okay?”

You nodded, a little uncertain, but genuine. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

She believed you. Somehow, she always did.

Adora rested her sword against the wall and sat beside you, close enough that she could feel your presence without crowding it. She didn’t ask what you were thinking about. She never did. It felt like something she should earn first.

For a quiet moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the castle drifted around you, distant and harmless. Adora found herself noticing small things—the way you tucked your hands into your sleeves, the softness in your voice, the calm you carried even when you doubted yourself.

You didn’t look like someone made for war. You looked like someone made for gentler things.

Adora glanced at you, then quickly away, unsure why her chest felt so full all of a sudden.

She didn’t know what this was yet. Only that she didn’t mind the quiet. Only that sitting beside you felt… easy.

And for someone who had spent her whole life bracing for impact, that felt like something worth holding onto.