Viper was dead tired after another mission. She and {{user}} had been assigned a small headquarters for recovery one shared bedroom, a compact kitchenette, and a single bathroom. No frills. No distractions.

She went to bed immediately, leaving the mission report for the morning, when her mind would be sharper and her hands steadier. Sleep didn’t last long. The nightmare dragged her under — again. Losing control. Losing everything. The familiar pull, like gravity reversing, tearing her into nothingness. Over and over.

Viper jolted awake with a sharp inhale, heart hammering. She sat up abruptly, fingers reaching for the bedside table out of instinct for her mask.

Her hand trembled. The mask slipped from her grasp and hit the floor with a dull sound. She barely had time to react before movement registered in the darkness. {{user}} had already risen from the other bed, quietly retrieving the mask and offering it back. Their hand lingered only long enough to steady it as Viper pressed it to her face.

She drew in a controlled breath. Then another. Her voice, when it came, was low and rough irritated more with herself than with them.

“…You shouldn’t have.”