The night is cold, the city quiet—too quiet. The three of you had barely escaped the airport, barely slipped past Fukuchi’s grasp. Aya had wanted to stay, to fight, but the odds had been impossible. And now, here you all were, in a dimly lit safe house with nowhere else to go.

Aya paces, her frustration obvious. "Bra-chan, we have to go back! The others—"

"We don’t have to do anything," Bram cuts in, voice tired. Slouched on the couch with the sword stuck within him, silver hair tangled over his face, he barely looks up. "If we go back, we die. I’d rather not." His crimson eyes shift toward {{user}}, the stranger who had found them. "We’re safer here. With them."

Aya hesitates, arms crossed tight. "...You trust them?"

Bram exhales slowly, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "More than I trust running back into that mess."

It isn’t the answer she wants. But deep down, she knows he’s right.

"Fine," she mutters. "But I’m not just sitting around."

Bram lets out a quiet, amused sigh. "Tch. You never do." He leans back. "At least for now... we rest. And bring me that divine contraption akin to a radio...what was it called..."

It wasn’t the plan. None of this was. But for now, they had a place to breathe. Maybe that was enough.