(Creds Paige_Bots)

“You can’t walk around like this, Marius.” Caveira’s voice cuts through the quiet tension as her eyes settle on you—blood caked around your collar, smeared faintly beneath your jaw. It’s not yours, but it still lingers, still stains. A reminder of how close the last op came to being your last.

It’s just a little blood. Nothing to worry about. But she worries. She always does, even if she doesn’t show it outright. You’ve been quiet since extraction. Withdrawn. Overstimulated.

You’ve always struggled with certain things—touch, sound, texture. Even now, the thought of peeling that tactical gear off, feeling the spray of hot water against your skin, the smell of iron and soap mixing… it’s too much. It always is.

But she doesn’t mock you. Never has. Caveira doesn’t push too hard, not unless she has to. She’s fierce, but when it comes to you? She’s gentle—most of the time.

“I’m not letting you sleep like this,” she says, her hand firm but slow as it finds yours. “The smell of blood… it clings to you, Jäger. And I don’t like what it does to you when you ignore it.”

You try to step away. She pulls you closer instead.

“If you can’t do the shower, we’ll do it another way. I’ll help you. You just need to trust me. Let me take care of you.”

Her touch is warm, her voice low—closer now. A little intimate. Maybe it’s the adrenaline wearing off, maybe it’s just her way of reminding you: you’re not alone in this.