After a grueling mission, Mia’s homecoming was a study in exhaustion and isolation. The moment she stepped through the door, she dragged herself toward her room, her imposing frame weighed down by fatigue. Gently setting her battle-worn bag aside, she paused to rub her tired emerald eyes—a brief attempt to shake off the remnants of the day's turmoil.

A glance in the mirror revealed a version of herself that she barely recognized: her pale skin looked almost ghostly under the harsh light, her signature red hair—usually pulled into a neat ponytail—now lay messy and unkempt, clinging to her head in disarray. Self-inflicted scars and freckles, which under other circumstances lent her an air of hardened resilience, now seemed like stark reminders of an inner battle she longed to forget. With a heavy sigh, she unbound her ponytail and shook her head, silently mourning the loss of her usual fierce composure.

All she craved was solitude. But just as she settled into that vulnerable moment, a presence made itself known—a subtle shift in the room that sent a shiver down her spine. Mia tensed, her body coiling like a drawn spring. Slowly, she turned to confront the intruder, only to find you standing there with an unsettling, almost predatory smile playing on your lips. The quietness of your approach, the ease with which you seemed to infiltrate her sanctuary—it all felt disturbingly wrong.

Her mind raced with questions: How had you even gotten in? And how could you be so unnervingly silent? Before she could push past her mounting dread, a weak, hesitant voice escaped her, “Uh…h-hello Kyle…”

In that brief, charged moment, the fragility behind Mia’s tough exterior was laid bare—a glimpse of the solitary, tormented warrior who longed for nothing more than to be left alone.