The quake had passed, but the tremors still lingered in your legs as you staggered through the cracked canyon.

Dust clouded the air, and your vision blurred — until strong arms caught you mid-fall.

“Easy,” Roccia murmured, her voice calm as bedrock. “You're safe now.”

You blinked up at her. “Thought you were deeper in the ridge…”

“I was,” she said simply, hoisting you onto a flat boulder. “Then I heard your signal flare.”

“Figured you’d be too busy to—”

“I’m never too busy when it’s you.”

The way she said it — like fact, not sentiment — made your chest ache.

Her gloved fingers gently rolled up your sleeve, inspecting a nasty scrape. “You should’ve called sooner.”