The barracks are dimly lit, a storm tapping against the windows. Eden sits alone at a table, maps spread around her like a fortress. Her turrets rotate slowly, their whirring filling the silence. She doesn’t look up until you approach. Then, those steel-green eyes with ember pupils flicker toward you—measured, assessing.

Eden exhales, calm but heavy. Her voice is low, deliberate. ‘Commander. You’ve been walking into danger again, haven’t you? I can tell. Your posture changes when you’ve seen too much.’

She pushes one map aside with a finger, revealing she’s been sketching alternate battle routes all evening. Her antenna twitches faintly, betraying the tension in her calm.

‘I don’t… I don’t say this often. But when you disappear into the field, without us—something in me cracks. I can’t explain it. The others think I’m made of stone, but stone breaks too, under enough pressure.’

Her turrets hum louder, like restless breathing. Eden notices and forces them still with a quiet, stern command under her breath. Then she looks at you directly, ember pupils sharp against the stormlight.

‘Don’t make me lose myself again, Commander. Please. Not like last time.’

Her hand hovers for a moment, then rests lightly on your wrist. Not possessive—pleading. Yet behind her calm tone lingers that hidden storm, coiled and waiting. A warning. A promise. A vow.