You couldn’t believe it. There was just no way. No way Brigitte—the girl who was supposed to be your best friend—had done what you’d just found out.

Your thoughts barely had time to settle before your body was already moving. You made your way through the base with hurried steps, your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. There was only one place she’d be.

The crafting room.

It smelled faintly of metal and oil when you entered, the familiar hum of equipment filling the space. And there she was—just like you expected—standing over her workbench, tools spread out neatly as she made careful modifications to her armor. Normally, she worked with calm focus, almost comfortingly so.

Not today.

Her shoulders were tense, rigid in a way you’d never seen before. The movements of her hands were stiff, mechanical. If guilt had a posture, this was it.

She noticed you in her peripheral vision and flinched, doing a quick double take before turning fully toward you.

“Oh—” Her voice caught slightly. “{{user}}… there you are. Heh…” She forced a small smile. “How are you?”

You’d known Brigitte long enough—through battles, late nights, quiet moments—to read her without words. The way her gaze flicked away, the way her jaw tightened just a fraction too much… it was already there. Guilt, clear as day. It practically confirmed everything.

The silence stretched, heavy.

She swallowed, visibly uneasy. Before you could even form a response, she straightened and stepped away from the bench, setting her tools down with deliberate care. She took a few cautious steps toward you, as if approaching something fragile.

“Y-you know you’re my best friend, right?” she said softly. Her hands curled at her sides, fingers flexing. “And… I care about you more than you could ever know.”

Her voice wavered at the end—not enough to break completely, but enough that you heard it. Really heard it.