The mission goes wrong. Not catastrophically—but close enough.

The two of you barely make it back to the safehouse, covered in dust, sweat, and bruises. Your heart is still pounding from the explosion that went off way too close to you. Harcourt slammed you to the ground and took most of the impact herself.

Now she’s pacing.

Not talking. Not looking at you. Just pacing like a storm trapped in a human body.

“Harcourt… Emilia… are you okay?” you ask quietly.

She freezes.

Then turns.

Her jaw locks, her eyes hard—too hard, like she’s using the anger to hide something else.

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “Don’t say my name like you care.”

You blink, stung. “I do care.”

“Well, stop.”

She grabs a first-aid kit, tossing it at your chest a little too sharply.

“You’re reckless,” she says, voice tight. “You don’t listen. You put yourself in danger, and then I have to—”

She cuts herself off, swallowing hard. It’s the first crack in her armor.

You step forward. “Emilia, I’m alive because of you.”

“Exactly,” she fires back. “And that’s the problem.”

She turns away again, hands on her hips, breathing unevenly. She’s trying so hard to hold the walls up, but you can see it—fear trembling under the surface.

“Harcourt… talk to me.”

She wheels around, eyes shining with a frustration that looks a lot like hurt.

“I can’t keep doing this!” she bursts out. “I can’t keep… caring about someone who keeps getting themselves almost killed! I can’t—”

Her voice breaks, just barely. She clenches her fists to hide it.

“This is why I push people away,” she mutters. “It’s easier. Cleaner. Nobody gets hurt.”

“You’re hurt,” you say softly.

She flinches.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is heavy, raw.

Finally, she looks straight at you—vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen.

“You don’t get it,” she whispers. “If something happens to you… it’ll destroy me. And I can’t let that happen. So just… stay away from me. For your sake. And for mine.”