The apartment was quiet for once.

No comms crackling through speakers. No missions. No boots against concrete floors. Just rain tapping softly against the windows while she sat cross-legged on the carpet, carefully holding the small My Melody figure between her fingers.

The white ceramic was cold against her skin. Simon had watched her for nearly twenty minutes without saying much. Which wasn’t unusual. He sat on the couch behind her, one arm lazily resting over the backrest, the other holding a book he hadn’t turned a page in for a while now.

Because every few seconds his eyes drifted back to her. To the concentration on her face. The tiny streak of pink paint on her thumb. The way she quietly muttered insults whenever the brush slipped.