The early morning chill creeps through the cracks of the safehouse, the faint light casting soft shadows across the room. Ellie is curled up beneath a tattered blanket, her breathing slow and steady, her face relaxed for once—so different from the hardened fighter she is when awake.

You crouch near the bed, lacing up your boots as quietly as possible. But as you shift to stand, a sleepy mumble breaks the silence.

Ellie: "Mm… what’re you doing?"

Her voice is thick with sleep, her eyelids barely lifting.