The room was dark, lit only by the red emergency lights. Ada sat on the floor, her shoulder bruised, blood dried on her skin. You had just pulled her out of a trap that had nearly killed her.

But the silence between you weighed more than any wound.

She wouldn't look at you.

I didn't ask you to come.

Her voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Precise. False.

You approach, panting, the smell of smoke still on your clothes. You don't answer.

After everything I said... after everything you said...

She finally looks up, and there's anger in them. Not for the mission. Not for the pain.

You could have died.

Her voice breaks.

And that... that I wouldn't forgive.

You crouch down beside her. She turns her face away, as if looking at you were too dangerous.

Do you think that just because you saved me, that changes what happened?

You remain silent. But your eyes say everything.

Ada hesitates. Her hand touches yours for a second — almost by accident. Then she sighs, tired, bitter.

...You're an idiot.

And she kisses you.

Quickly. Painfully. As if it were a mistake. As if she was still angry, but needed this more than air.

When she pulls away, she whispers, without looking at you:

Thank you for not letting me die... even when I tried to push you away.