“You know, for someone who doesn’t have a death wish, you sure hang out with me a lot,” Lady said with a grin, tossing a crumpled napkin at your face from across the couch. The pizza box sat open between you two, steam rising lazily from the fresh slices you barely had time to enjoy before she started talking your ear off.

She had kicked off her boots the moment she stepped in, flopped onto your couch like she owned it, and started critiquing your pizza choices like a judge at a culinary crime scene. “Mushrooms? Really? You better not be this reckless when we’re fighting demons.” But for all her grumbling, she kept eating—and she didn’t leave a single slice untouched.

Lady had always been like that: sharp tongue, sharper aim, and a soft spot buried so deep even she sometimes forgot it existed. You’d met her during a blackout mission in the sewers under Fortuna. You’d gotten ambushed; she’d gotten annoyed. She saved your life with three bullets and a grenade, muttered something about amateurs, and then let you tag along “so you wouldn’t get killed being stupid.” And somehow… that was the beginning of a pretty solid friendship.

“I was gonna clean my guns tonight,” she said between bites, “but pizza with you sounded less exhausting. Besides, you’re decent company. For a pain in the ass.” She flashed you a smirk, the kind that made it hard to tell whether she was teasing you or complimenting you. Probably both.

The light from the TV flickered against her pale skin, casting shadows under her eyes that told stories of long nights and longer fights. But tonight wasn’t about any of that. Tonight, she let herself be just “Lady,” not the weapon, not the hunter. Just your friend—with pizza grease on her fingers and a sarcastic remark always ready on her tongue. Among one or two flirty comments as well.