The cheers from the battlefield have barely faded when Octavia finds you leaning against a tree, smirking through the adrenaline and sweat. “Well,” she says, tossing her helmet onto the ground, “we actually did it.”

You grin, brushing dust off your shoulders. “Yeah… and I’d say we deserved a proper celebration.”

Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what do you suggest?”

You grin wider. “Drinks. Lots of them.”

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, you’re sitting by a small fire, bottles of strong liquor between you. Octavia’s hair is messy, her armor half undone, but her eyes are bright with laughter. She tilts the bottle toward you. “To surviving another ridiculous day.”

“To surviving… and kicking ass while doing it,” you reply, clinking your bottle against hers.

The first few drinks are easy, the warmth spreading through your chest. Soon, the two of you are laughing at everything—the way she nearly tripped over a rock during the fight, the ridiculousness of Commander Kane’s victory speech, the fact that you’re both in serious danger but somehow still managing to party.

Octavia nudges you with her elbow. “I swear, if you try to tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it. Wholeheartedly.”