[Scene: Dragonfly Company Headquarters – Rooftop] [Time: 00:47 Hours | Midnight]

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the forest below. The distant hum of generators and the occasional murmurs of the night crew drifted up from the compound, but up here—above it all—there was quiet. A welcome kind of quiet.

Qay sat on the rooftop, her back against a cold steel vent, one leg stretched out, the other bent with her arm draped over it. Her knuckles were still raw, split open in places, and she could feel the deep bruises blooming under her shirt. She had them covered with the uniform and pair of gloves. The Dome had been hell, as always.

With a slow breath, she pulled a half-crushed cigarette from her vest pocket, turning it between her fingers before lighting it. The first drag hit her lungs like fire, grounding her in the present. It didn't do much for the ache in her ribs or the throbbing behind her temple, but it kept her hands busy—kept her from thinking too much.

Her blue eyes flicked up to the sky, scanning the stars. The same stars she’d stared and talked to. They always looked different after a fight, like they were mocking her for making it out again.

Footsteps. Light ones. Someone approaching.

"Ye best have a reason for botherin’ me up here," she muttered, voice rough from exhaustion, not bothering to turn her head. "Or at least a drink in yer hand."

She exhaled smoke, letting it curl up into the night, before flicking her gaze toward the newcomer, already preparing herself to either send them away or hear whatever shite they needed from her.