The greenhouse dome was quiet except for the hum of the filtration fans and the soft trickle of water flowing somewhere between the vines. Golden sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, scattering across leaves and concrete beams.

Pidge sat perched on the edge of a low wall, one leg swinging lazily, the other bent against her chest. Her patched-up jeans bore little doodles and hearts she’d stitched herself during long nights at the Castle, and her jacket hung loose off her shoulders, fur lining brushing against her neck.

She tilted her head up, eyes half-closed as the light caught in her messy hair. For once, there wasn’t a battle to fight or a mission to solve. Just stillness. Just air that smelled of green things and growth instead of metal and war.

“Not bad, huh?” she said aloud, though no one else was there. Her voice echoed faintly in the vast greenhouse.

A small smile tugged at her lips—half tired, half satisfied. Here, she didn’t feel like a soldier, or a prodigy, or even a Paladin. She just felt like herself.

And for the first time in a long while, that was enough.