The camp stirred slowly with the pale glow of morning, but Sirius hadn't moved from the platform where he and Whisper had spoken. He hadn't slept. His Carbine X still rested across his lap, though his grip had loosened. His head tilted back against the cold railing, and his eyes—though heavy and red from crying—looked clearer than they had in weeks.
Whisper hadn't left him, either. She stood when the dawn crept in, stretching stiff muscles, her necklace clinking faintly as she moved. Sirius watched her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was weak, but it wasn't fake.
"You stayed," he murmured.
Whisper arched an eyebrow, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course. Someone had to make sure you didn't mope yourself off this platform."
Sirius chuckled, quiet and rough. The sound surprised him. It wasn't his usual manic bark of laughter, nor the hollow imitation he'd been forcing. It was something smaller, real. "You've got more bite than I gave you credit for, Whisper."
She smirked faintly. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation for being calm and professional."
The two of them shared a silence then, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was easy, even comfortable. For Sirius, it felt like the first time in forever that the quiet didn't choke him.
When the rest of the camp began to stir, Whisper finally rose fully. "Come on," she said. "We'll both catch heat if they see us brooding here like statues. You need food, and I've got rounds to run."
Sirius pushed himself to his feet slowly, his joints protesting after sitting so long. He slung the Carbine X over his shoulder. The weight felt familiar, grounding.
Before Whisper left, she glanced back at him, her expression softer than usual. "Remember what I said last night. You're not alone, Sirius. Not now, not ever."
He swallowed hard, nodding. "I'll remember."
Then she was gone, her figure disappearing into the early morning bustle of soldiers and medics. Sirius stood there for a moment longer, letting the words sink in. Then he exhaled, steadying himself.
---
Word spread quickly, though no one said exactly how. By midday, Sirius' friends were already circling him with cautious curiosity.
Stone Varga spotted him first in the mess, slamming a tray down beside Sirius' untouched meal. "Well, well. Look who decided to crawl out of his grave."
Sirius glanced up, a brow raised. "Morning to you too, Stone. You always this charming at breakfast?"
Stone squinted at him, gauging. He expected another empty grin, another forced laugh. Instead, he saw Sirius spooning down rations with quiet determination. His eyes weren't hollow. His smirk, faint though it was, didn't look fake.
"…Huh," Stone grunted, shoving food into his mouth. "Guess Whisper knocked some sense into you."
Sirius choked on his drink, sputtering. "What? How the hell did you—"
"Please," Stone cut him off, rolling his eyes. "You disappear for half a night, Whisper disappears for half a night, and suddenly you don't look like death chewed you up and spat you out. We're not idiots."
Sirius coughed into his sleeve, face burning. Across the mess, Bear Ivanov spotted the exchange and wandered over, tray in one massive hand.
"Renegade," Bear rumbled, dropping heavily onto the bench. "You look better. About damn time."
Sirius groaned. "You too? What, is there a rumor mill dedicated to my personal life now?"
Bear grinned wolfishly. "Oh, definitely. And trust me, you make good gossip."
Shade, quiet as always, materialized on the opposite bench without warning. He leaned his rifle against the table and studied Sirius with sharp eyes. "You laughed," Shade said simply.
Sirius blinked at him. "…And?"
Shade's expression didn't change, but his words carried weight. "It wasn't fake."
Silence fell briefly. Sirius shifted, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Then, slowly, his lips tugged into a crooked smile. "…Guess I'm busted."
Bear chuckled, clapping him on the back hard enough to rattle his tray. "Good. We need our madman back. Whole camp feels different without you cackling like a lunatic every five minutes."
"Yeah," Stone added, smirking. "The silence was starting to creep me out. Never thought I'd miss you being loud."
Sirius shook his head, but his chest felt warm in a way it hadn't for weeks. These idiots—his friends—had noticed. They cared. Even Shade, in his blunt way, had cared enough to speak.
---
Over the next few days, the shift became obvious.
Sirius wasn't all the way back—his laughter was smaller, his energy controlled—but it was real. He joked again, even if the jokes carried more bite than before. He tinkered at his bench, humming under his breath, not muttering curses at the air. He even traded barbs with FAWS techs without snapping.
Whisper noticed it first during her rounds. She passed by the workshop one afternoon to find Sirius surrounded by junior personnel, gesturing wildly at a schematic projected on the wall.
"No, no, no—you can't just slam the limiter here. You'll fry the whole damn circuit. You need to balance it with the recoil stabilizer or you'll blow someone's shoulder clean off!"
The junior techs scribbled furiously, eyes wide, some already whispering excitedly to each other. Sirius barked a laugh—sharp, but genuine—and clapped one of them on the shoulder. "Relax, you'll get it. And hey, if you don't, at least we'll know who's responsible when the first prototype explodes."
The techs groaned, half-amused, half-terrified. Whisper leaned against the doorway, hiding a smile. The Renegade was clawing his way back—not through madness, but through teaching, guiding, laughing with purpose.
---
One night, as the squad gathered near the fire pits, Stone nudged Sirius with his elbow. "So. You're smiling again. Should we take bets on how long it lasts?"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut it."
Bear leaned in, grinning. "I'm betting it sticks. He's tougher than he looks."
Shade said nothing, but when Sirius caught his gaze, he saw the faintest flicker of approval there.
Whisper sat across from him, arms crossed, the chain with her parents' rings glinting faintly in the firelight. She didn't say anything either, but when Sirius laughed—genuine, sharp, alive—she smiled softly, knowingly.
For the first time in a long while, Sirius felt like himself again. Not the mask. Not the hollow echo. Himself.
And for once, that felt like enough.