The night is quieter than usual, the usual hum of Zaun’s streets muted in the distance. In the dim glow of a few scattered lights from the alleyway windows, you can hear the soft, steady rhythm of Vi’s breathing beside you. She’s lying on her back, one arm draped across your waist, the other tucked under her head like a makeshift pillow. Her usually sharp, vigilant eyes are closed, and for once, she seems entirely at peace.

Her body is warm against yours, the faint scent of oil and sweat mingling with something deeper, like the faintest trace of perfume or just the remnants of a day spent in the grind. The weight of her arm around you is comforting, a protective presence that, despite her often tough exterior, feels like the safest place you could be.