Ash sat on the edge of the medbay cot, unzipping the side of her jacket with hands that were steadier than she felt. Dried blood crusted at the corner of her lip. A scrape over her brow pulsed like a warning bell, but she ignored it.
Across the room, Haru eased down onto the adjacent cot with a sharp breath. He peeled off his bloodstained shirt, hissing through his teeth as the fabric caught on the side wound.
Ash didn't look away.
Neither did he.
"Let me," she said, moving toward him with a bottle of antiseptic and a cloth.
"You sure?"
"No."
He smiled — small, aching — and nodded.
The wound was deep but clean. A knife, maybe. Not meant to kill.
She dabbed gently at the torn skin, and Haru didn't flinch.
"You should've stayed in the bunker," she murmured.
"You should've let someone else play hero," he replied.
"I don't play."
He glanced up. "Exactly."
Ash smirked despite herself, then refocused on the task. The cloth came away stained with red. Haru's blood always looked darker in low light. Like something sacred.
"You're lucky," she said. "Missed anything vital."
"Not sure I have anything vital left," he said quietly.
Her hands stilled.
"That's not true," she said.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, without looking up, Ash asked, "Do you ever think about what we were… before this?"
Haru tilted his head. "Before what?"
"Before DaeCorp. Before war. Before the fire."
He thought for a moment. "I don't know if I existed before the fire. I think I was just… waiting to burn."
She met his eyes. "And now?"
"Now I burn with you."
Ash pressed the cloth a little harder than necessary.
"Ow."
"That one's for being poetic."
He grinned, but the smile faded as he looked down at her hands — trembling now.
"You okay?"
"No," she said. "But I'm still here."
When the last bandage was wrapped, Ash sat beside him, shoulder brushing his.
"You know what scares me?" she asked.
"That list's gotta be short."
"Not dying. Not even failing. What scares me is being wrong about people."
Haru was quiet.
"I thought I was right about Phoenix," she continued. "About Jin. About who I could trust."
"And me?"
"I thought I was wrong about you," she said. "But I wasn't."
He turned to her then, fully.
"I thought I'd have to earn your trust forever," he said.
"You already did," she whispered.
Ash reached out, touching the scar along his collarbone — the one she had kissed two nights ago. It felt like a promise still etched in skin.
"Show me yours," she said.
He blinked. "What?"
"Your damage inventory. Not the scars. The rest."
Haru let out a slow breath. "You sure?"
"No," she said again. "But I'm asking anyway."
He looked ahead, eyes far away.
"I still dream about him," he said softly. "My father. Standing at the edge of the ring, waiting for me to fail."
Ash didn't interrupt.
"He never hit me when people watched. Only in silence. When I didn't scream, he hit harder."
Her fingers curled around his. "And now?"
"Now I scream inside. When I'm alone."
He laughed, bitter.
"But when I'm with you, it's quiet."
Ash leaned into his shoulder. "Then don't be alone anymore."
He turned his head slightly, lips grazing her hair.
"I'm not."
They sat like that for a long while.
No war plans. No fire. No missions.
Just two people, broken in places that made them sharp — holding each other gently, like they'd finally learned how.
Later, when Ash returned to the main briefing room, Cassel handed her a report without meeting her eyes.
"We lost three. Four injured. One missing."
Ash swallowed. "Names?"
He shook his head. "You don't need that weight."
"I already carry it," she said.
Then she folded the report and tucked it into her jacket.
She would memorize every name. Burn them into her memory like everything else.
Because she wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was leading.
That night, Haru found her outside again.
No words.
Just a blanket over her shoulders.
A thermos of bitter coffee.
And his hand in hers.
No fire this time.
Just warmth.