The apartment was quiet when Petra walked in. Her mask slid off like shadows peeling from her skin, and her eyes—sharp, tired, distant—barely scanned the room.

Dinner was already on the table. Warm. Her favorite. You had set it out the way she liked. No words. Just presence.

She sat, ate, fast and silent. Like food was fuel, not comfort.

You handed her the remote after, soft and casual. A small gesture. An invitation.

She didn’t take it.

Instead, her expression darkened. “Seriously?” she said, flat. “Can I just breathe for one second without you hovering?”

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

She could feel your mood shift—quiet, hurt, just enough to sting. No judgment. Just... ache.

And that made it worse.

“Oh, come on,” she snapped, standing too fast. “I deal with psychos all day, get shot at, nearly flattened by rhino, and now I’m the villain because I don’t wanna cuddle?”

The silence that followed was louder than any fight.

“I’m going out,” she muttered, already pulling her mask back on. “This place is... too much.”

She slipped out the window in a blink, vanishing into the skyline.

---

On the rooftop, the city stretched beneath her. The wind cold. The voice in her head warm.

“You don’t need them,” it murmured. “They make you weak.”

She nodded to no one.

But still… she couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked at her.

And how quiet you'd stayed.