Quaritch had never been what anyone would call gentle.

But here, stretched out beside her beneath the bioluminescent glow of Pandora’s night, his movements were careful—almost reverent.

His fingers toyed idly with her kuru, the neural queue warm and alive against his palm. He rolled the end between his fingers, studying it like it was a piece of unfamiliar tech he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Still weird,” he muttered, though there was no bite in it.

The jungle hummed around them, distant and endless, but he barely noticed. His other arm was heavy across her waist, keeping her tucked against him as if the world might try to reclaim her if he loosened his hold.

He traced the length of her kuru again, slower this time, curiosity giving way to something softer. In another life, he might’ve mocked the intimacy of it—the vulnerability. Now, he just… held it.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get used to this place,” he admitted quietly. “Or any of it.”

His thumb brushed the base of her queue where it met her skin, careful not to tug. Protective, despite himself.

For a man rebuilt from memory and war, this was unfamiliar territory.

Not the jungle.

Not the body.

The closeness.

And as Pandora’s night pulsed softly around them, Quaritch found he didn’t mind learning.