Everyone at HQ thought Emilia Harcourt was unbreakable. Untouchable. A force of nature wrapped in armor and attitude.

She trained the hardest, shot the straightest, and walked around like the world couldn’t lay a finger on her.

And because she never complained, no one ever looked twice.

Except you.

You noticed everything she hid—the way her shoulders tightened after briefings, the way she rubbed the scar on her arm when no one was looking, the way her jokes landed sharper when she was overwhelmed.

So when she came back from a mission looking off, the others just shrugged.

But you didn’t.

You found her in the empty gun range, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. The lights flickered, casting shadows across her face, making her look exhausted in a way you’d never seen before.

You stepped quietly inside. “Emilia?”

She didn’t jump. She didn’t glare. She just sighed. “That obvious?”

You sat down beside her, not touching, just close enough to show you were there. “To everyone else? No. To me? Yeah.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Figures. You’re the only one who pays attention.”

You nodded. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just… didn’t want you sitting here alone.”

For a long moment, she didn’t answer. She just stared at the wall, her breath shaky in a way she tried to hide.

“It was a kid,” she finally said. “Wrong place, wrong time. We got them out. They’re fine. But—” Her voice cracked, barely audible. “Not everything I’ve seen ends like that.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. “You did everything right.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes quickly, like she was ashamed to be struggling.

You leaned slightly closer. “You don’t have to be strong every second. Not with me.”

For the first time, she looked at you—really looked. Her eyes were tired, raw, vulnerable in a way she never let anyone see.

“You’re the only one who notices,” she said quietly. “The only one who… sees past the armor.”

You offered a small smile. “Well… someone has to make sure you don’t fall apart when you’re busy pretending you’re made of steel.”

A soft snort escaped her. “I hate how right you are.”