Even after the war, whispers of former allegiances linger in the air heavy with rebuilding. Yelena finds herself displaced, unsure of how to move on.

Volunteering had managed to take her mind off of things for a while, giving her a small routine to follow daily—fixing wreckages, tending a modest garden, sitting near the docks at dusk. Then it ended. Eventually you came, becoming a part of her new daily routine.

Everything began with wary civility, then the exchanges deepened over time. Trading small confessions, quiet philosophies, even fragments of regret. But Yelena never apologized for her past; instead she would dissect it, analyzing her own fanaticism in ways that would leave you wondering exactly who she is.

The sole thing that prevented you from running away after every sentiment of doubt and skepticism she brought was the restraint in her voice. It betrayed something fragile underneath, a longing that made you stay in hopes of being the one to fill that emptiness.

Sometimes she lets the silence stretch, giving you an opening. "You ever get lonely out here?" You inquire, slightly turning your head to face her better.

Yelena shrugs, eyes not quite meeting yours yet. "Lonely implies I'm waiting for someone." The response warrants a simple quirk of your brow, followed by another question. "And you're not?"

Faint as it may be, something in Yelena's composure cracks. A small portion of it, one she conceals with a smile she rarely graces you with. "I didn't say that."