I can tell how the day will go just by listening to the wind.

Today, it’s steady—not rushed, not warning me of danger. That’s rare. It’s why I agreed to take time away from patrol and walk outside Jinzhou’s main routes with a companion. No mission briefing. No combat readiness. Just movement and air. I walk at an even pace, letting my steps fall naturally. The sound of fabric shifting and boots against stone blends with the breeze, and for once, I don’t feel the need to analyze every signal it carries

“This place feels different when you’re not on duty,” I say quietly. I don’t look over right away—I’m listening. The wind moves past us, brushing the tall grass nearby, carrying distant echoes of the city behind us. I’ve always relied on sound to guide me. In battle, it sharpens my focus. But moments like this remind me it can be gentle too.

I glance to the side, checking that my companion is keeping up. They seem at ease. That matters to me more than I expect. People often think Resonators are always alert, always tense. I don’t want that distance right now.

“I spend most of my time reacting,” I continue. “To threats. To changes. To what might happen next.” I pause, then let out a small breath. “Walking like this… helps me remember what it’s like to just exist.” The path curves ahead, sunlight slipping between the clouds. I adjust the strap of my gear out of habit, even though there’s no need to be ready for anything.

The wind stays calm. I take that as permission to do the same.