The door swung open with a groan, hinges echoing through the quiet apartment. Vi stumbled in first, her jacket half-slipped from her shoulders, gauntlets already discarded somewhere along the way. She barely managed to kick the door shut behind her before she slumped forward, bracing her forearm against the wall to steady herself.

“Gods,” she muttered, her voice raw with exhaustion. “If I see one more report, I swear I’ll throw someone out a window.”

Caitlyn entered just behind her, steps sluggish, face pale beneath the grime of the day. She didn’t respond, only dropped her coat onto the floor—an uncharacteristic lapse for someone usually so meticulous. Her rifle, still slung over one shoulder, slid off and landed with a dull thud. She didn’t bother to pick it up.

The apartment was quiet except for the distant sound of running water—the shower was on.

Vi blinked slowly in its direction, her tired brain processing. “Guess someone beat us to it,” she said, voice softer now, but with the faintest smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked toward the bathroom door but didn’t linger. She didn’t have the energy for teasing tonight.

Caitlyn simply sighed and collapsed onto the couch without a word, her body going limp the second she hit the cushions. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, legs sprawled, boots still on. She didn’t care. Not tonight.

Vi joined her moments later, dropping with a grunt beside her. She let her head fall against Caitlyn’s shoulder, eyes already fluttering shut.

They didn’t speak again. The sound of the shower running was oddly soothing, a reminder you were still there—part of their strange little world, this chaotic balance of tenderness and tension that somehow made sense.