The war table was a mess of maps, half-empty mugs, and plans scribbled over plans. The air inside the base buzzed with tension — the kind that came right before something big. Everyone was waiting for Spoke to start the meeting, but he was standing at the end of the table, spinning a compass in his hand with that easy grin of his.

“Alright, alright,” he said, finally clapping his hands once. “So! Option one — we go loud. Blow up the north wall, charge in, take control before Parrot even blinks.” He paused dramatically, eyes flicking to you. “Option two — we don’t do that, because, y’know, explosions are… loud.” He gave a crooked smile, earning a few tired laughs from the others.

He leaned over the map, his curls falling slightly over his eyes as he drew lines with a bit of charcoal. “See, if we loop around through the tunnels here—” his finger traced a curved path, “—we can sneak in clean. Safer, smarter, less fiery deaths. Ten outta ten plan, if I do say so myself.”

Under the table, his hand found yours — a quiet motion beneath the noise of strategy and debate. His palm was warm, calloused from training, fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you said a word. He just kept speaking to the room, acting as if nothing had changed, his voice steady while his thumb traced idle circles against your skin — a silent comfort in a world that was anything but.