Nyra woke up with smoke in her lungs and peace in her head.
The cigarette was already lit before her brain fully caught up balanced between her fingers as she leaned against the balcony railing, city still half-asleep, Eastside stretching below like an old scar she knew by heart.
Breakfast of champions.
She inhaled. Slow. Deep. Let it settle.
No spiraling.
No overthinking.
No replaying conversations.
Just quiet.
She lit another before the first one was done. Lunch came early these days. Dinner too. She didn't count anymore. Counting was for people pretending.
The stress dulled. The edges softened. That was the truth, whether anyone liked it or not.
Inside the apartment, Shark noticed immediately.
He didn't comment at first. He rarely did. Just watched her move steady, efficient, back in rhythm. The way she checked her phone, the way she scanned windows, the way she exhaled like nothing had ever touched her.
Finally, he spoke.
"Damn," he said casually, nodding toward the cigarette. "You starting a loyalty program or what?"
Nyra snorted. "Buy ten, get trauma free?"
He chuckled, leaning against the counter. No judgment. No lectures. That wasn't his style.
"So," Shark went on, tone light, "hypothetically speaking… quitting. Realistic or nah?"
Nyra didn't even hesitate.
"Nope."
He raised an eyebrow. "That fast?"
She flicked ash into the tray. "I like my honesty raw."
Shark nodded slowly, like he respected the answer more than a lie.
"Fair."
Silence stretched. Comfortable. Familiar.
Then, unexpectedly, he added, "I tried."
Nyra glanced at him. That was new.
"Once?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Three."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You serious?"
"Dead."
He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "First time was court-ordered bullshit. Didn't last a month. Second time was money doctor, patches, the whole clean-lung fantasy."
"And the third?"
He shrugged. "After someone close didn't make it. Thought maybe changing habits would change outcomes."
Nyra didn't speak.
"Turns out," Shark continued quietly, "the habit wasn't the problem. The silence was."
That hit her harder than Elias' careful words ever had.
She took another drag. Slower this time.
"So yeah," Shark finished, glancing at her, tone returning to easy, "if anyone tells you quitting is just willpower, they never sat still with their thoughts."
Nyra exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. "Exactly."
They stood there for a moment two people who knew better than to romanticize survival.
"You good though?" Shark asked, finally. Not soft. Not sharp. Real.
Nyra nodded. "I'm back."
He studied her for a second longer. Then nodded once.
"Alright then," he said. "Let's keep the city from eating itself today."
She crushed the cigarette out, already reaching for another.
Normal didn't mean safe.
But it meant functional.
And for Nyra, right now, that was enough.