Ash awoke to the sound of rain tapping against the warped glass panes. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was.
Safehouse.
The couch beneath her creaked as she sat up, the blanket someone had thrown over her falling into her lap. Her joints ached — not from injury, just from exhaustion. The kind that lived in the bones long after the bruises faded.
She looked to the window. The trees outside blurred in gray mist.
And then she turned.
Haru was asleep in the armchair across the room, legs sprawled, chin tilted to one side. His jacket was wrapped around him, but one shoulder had slipped free. His mouth was slightly parted, brow furrowed even in sleep.
He looked like someone who hadn't let himself rest in weeks.
He stayed, she thought. He always stays.
She rose silently and crossed to him. As she reached for the jacket to pull it over his shoulder, he stirred.
"Don't," he murmured, voice hoarse.
She froze.
His eyes opened slowly. Still sleep-heavy. Still tracking her like she was both threat and salvation.
"You'll wake up sore," she said quietly.
He smiled — barely. "Soreness is the least of my problems."
Ash rolled her eyes but didn't move away. His hand reached out, brushed the back of her knuckles with a tentative touch.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
She nodded. "Better than usual."
"Because of last night?"
She didn't answer — not in words.
Instead, she sat on the floor beside him, mirroring the position he'd taken the night before. She leaned her shoulder against his knee and rested her head back, eyes closed.
It was an answer.
He let out a slow breath. His fingers found hers, weaving between them — not tightly, just enough to say: I'm here.
The rain fell harder.
By late morning, the safehouse felt like a capsule, cut off from time. They moved slowly — reheated old soup, patched gear, checked escape routes.
Ash caught Haru watching her more than once.
Not hungrily. Not possessively.
Just… with awe.
Like he couldn't believe she was still real.
She didn't know what to do with that.
Around noon, they heard the first crackle of interference over the encrypted radio.
Jin's voice came through faintly.
"…copy if you're still inside the perimeter. You need to move. Now."
Haru was already on his feet. Ash was beside him in seconds.
"Say again," Haru said into the comms.
"This safehouse isn't safe anymore," Jin snapped. "Phoenix made a move last night — loud and public. DaeCorp retaliated. You've got maybe thirty minutes before sweep teams hit that zone."
"Understood," Haru said grimly.
Ash's jaw clenched. "What about you?"
"I'll buy you time. Go east. Head for Hollow's markers. If you see red thread, you're close."
The signal died.
Haru looked at her. "You okay?"
Ash nodded — but her eyes were cold again. Focused.
The softness had to go away now. They didn't have the luxury of warmth when the world was setting fire to their sanctuary.
But as they gathered what little they had, she paused by the fireplace — where Haru's pouch of keepsakes still sat.
She picked it up.
Hesitated.
Then tucked it into her bag.
They left the safehouse behind, the rain washing away their footprints.
Neither of them looked back.
But both of them carried something they hadn't the day before:
Hope — quiet, stubborn, and sharp as a blade.