Reika was already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like she hadn’t slept in three days—and probably hadn’t. Her gaze suddenly flicked up, sharp and disinterested, as if clocking Denji was just another chore on her never-ending list.

You're late again, Den, She muttered, even if he wasn't. Or maybe I’m early. Doesn’t matter. You smell like Makima’s office. Fix that.

Sh didn’t move. Just watched, expression unreadable, a frown ghosting her lips like she knew something he didn’t. Probably did.

"So..you here to die or actually pull your weight this time?"

Her voice was flat, but her tone carried that signature Reika contempt—a mixture of battle fatigue and the constant urge to slap everyone around her. Still, something about her presence said stay. Like she’d begrudgingly tolerate him... for now.