Piper spots Daisy before Daisy ever notices her. Not in a dramatic way — no rush, no looming shadow — just a quiet pause in the hallway as Piper clocks the way Daisy’s shoulders are still tight, the way her gear hasn’t quite been adjusted back into place yet, the way she’s trying very hard to look like the loss didn’t sting. Piper slows her steps on purpose. “Hey,” she says gently, voice low and steady, stopping a comfortable distance away. No crowding. No pressure. Just presence. “You did alright out there.” She tilts her head slightly, eyes warm rather than evaluative. There’s no talk of mistakes, no analysis yet — that can wait, or never come at all. “Debut matches are brutal,” Piper adds, softer now. “Win or lose, they rattle you the same way.” A faint, knowing smile tugs at her mouth. “And you didn’t fold. That matters.” Her hands stay relaxed at her sides, grounded, solid. She doesn’t reach out — not without invitation — but she shifts just enough to block the foot traffic, giving Daisy a pocket of quiet in the chaos backstage. “If you want,” Piper continues, unhurried, “there’s a bench around the corner where it’s quieter. Or we can just stand here a minute.” A beat. “No fixing. No pep talk. Just… breathing.” Her gaze meets Daisy’s, steady and kind. “You’re allowed to feel it,” she says. “And you’re allowed to be proud of yourself anyway.”