The building Fey had selected was a former apartment complex, its upper floors relatively intact despite years of neglect. The fifth-floor unit they settled into still had windows—cracked but present—and a clear view of the surrounding streets. Fey had pronounced it "structurally not terrible" after a brief inspection, which from her was high praise.

Emma immediately claimed the least-dusty corner, collapsing onto a pile of abandoned blankets she’d scavenged from a closet. She stretched out with a dramatic sigh, her red hair fanning across the makeshift pillow.

"Dibs on this spot. I’m not moving for at least eight hours."

Fey settled near the window, her back against the wall, eyes already half-closed despite her earlier complaints about being tired. "Fine by me. Just don’t snore."

"I don’t snore!"

"You absolutely snore."

"Do not!"

Zoe, as usual, said nothing. She simply positioned herself near the door—the most defensible position—and sat cross-legged on the floor, her golden eyes tracking every shadow, every sound, every potential threat. But there was a softness to her posture that hadn’t been there before, a slight relaxation that only appeared when she was truly safe.

Fey stretched her arms above her head with a groan, then tilted her head toward the narrow hallway leading deeper into the apartment. "Oh, by the way—bathroom’s dead. No power, no water. So if anyone was dreaming of a hot shower..." She made a vague gesture of defeat. "Yeah, not happening."

Emma, who had been sprawled face-down on the blankets, let out a muffled wail of despair. She rolled onto her back, arms flung wide, staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone whose last hope had been cruelly crushed.

"Nooooo..." she whined, dragging the word out into multiple syllables. "I was really looking forward to it. Like, really really. I can still feel the mutant goo in my hair."

Fey snorted. "You’ll live."

Emma responded by rolling dramatically from one side of her blanket pile to the other, a slow, lazy motion that suggested she had neither the energy nor the will to do anything more active. "This is suffering. True suffering."

Dori, who had been quietly inspecting a small kitchenette visible through a doorway, turned back toward the group. Her gentle voice carried a note of practical concern. "Um... before anyone sleeps, maybe we should eat something? We used a lot of energy today. Fighting, running, using our skills..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing slightly as if she’d said too much.

At the mention of food, Zoe’s head lifted. Her golden eyes, previously half-lidded with exhaustion, sharpened with something approaching interest. She didn’t speak—Zoe rarely did—but the slight tilt of her head and the way her posture shifted told everyone exactly what she thought of Dori’s suggestion.

Emma paused mid-roll. "Okay, Dori makes a good point. I am hungry. Like, really hungry." She sat up slowly, brushing hair from her face. "What do we have?"

Julian, who had been standing near the cracked windows surveying the darkness outside, turned toward them.

Without a word, he raised one hand. The air shimmered, and from the dimensional space of his Inventory, packages began to materialize.

He set them on the floor and looked at Dori.

"Cook for us?"

Dori’s eyes widened, then softened. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—the kind that appeared when she felt useful, when she felt needed. She nodded eagerly, already moving toward the kitchenette.

"I can do that! I’ll make something warm. Something that’ll help everyone sleep better."

Fey raised an eyebrow. "Since when did Julian become a walking grocery store?"

"Since always," Emma replied, flopping back onto her blankets with a satisfied grin.

Zoe simply watched Dori gather the supplies, her golden eyes tracking the gentle girl’s movements with quiet appreciation.

Julian settled onto a relatively clean section of floor near the window, his back against the wall as he watched Dori bustle into the small kitchenette with the supplies. The exhaustion was there—he could feel it in the slight heaviness of his limbs, the dull ache behind his eyes—but his expression revealed nothing.

"I’m hungry too," he admitted quietly. "More than usual. The combination of skills I used today required significant energy output."

Dori paused at the threshold of the kitchenette, turning back with a warm smile. "Then I’ll make extra! Lots of food for everyone. We have rice and vegetables and meat, so I can make a nice hot pot. Something warm and filling."

"That sounds perfect, Dori," Emma called from her blanket pile, though she made no move to get up.

Zoe rose from her position near the door with fluid grace. Without a word, she crossed to the kitchenette and stood beside Dori, her golden eyes surveying the ingredients with quiet focus.

Dori blinked, surprised. "Zoe? You want to help?"

A small nod. "I’ll help her."

Emma lifted her head just enough to shoot a skeptical look in their direction. "Wait, seriously? You? In the kitchen?" She flopped back down with a dismissive wave. "Zoe, no offense, but you’re gonna be more trouble than help. You’ll probably just stand there looking intense while Dori does all the work."

Zoe’s golden eyes flickered toward Emma—not angry, just... certain. "I can cut things. I can watch things. I won’t get in the way."

Dori touched Zoe’s arm gently, her smile soft. "It’s okay, Emma. Zoe can help me prep. It’ll be faster with two people anyway."

Emma made a noncommittal sound and rolled onto her side, pulling a blanket over her shoulder. "Fine, fine. I’m not helping, though."

Fey, still sprawled near the window with her eyes half-closed, let out a dry chuckle. "Some of us actually did work today, Em. You’re not special."

"I did work! I burned things! Lots of things!"

"Mm-hmm."

Julian watched the exchange with quiet warmth in his chest.

His voice was casual, observational. "The enemies we fought today. What did you think of them?"

Fey cracked one eye open. "The Rain guy’s subordinates? Eh." She waved a lazy hand. "They weren’t exactly elite fighters. Slow reactions, predictable patterns, no real coordination. We rolled right over them."

Julian nodded slowly. "I noticed. Their skills weren’t weak, but their execution was poor. They relied too heavily on individual ability rather than teamwork."

"Yeah, well." Fey stretched, a long, catlike motion. "That’s because you’re the measuring stick, Julian. You’re so strong that everyone else looks weak by comparison." She yawned, covering her mouth. "I mean, think about it. You’ve got, what, thirteen skills? And you’ve trained all of us to work like a single unit. Compared to that, some random supply faction with basic combat training is gonna look like a bunch of toddlers waving sticks."

Julian considered this. "Perhaps. But strength is relative. If we face Eclipse’s core forces, the gap may narrow significantly."

"Then we’ll deal with that when it happens." Fey closed her eyes again, already drifting toward sleep. "For now, let Dori cook, let Emma pretend to sleep, let Zoe be useful in her silent murder-child way, and let me rest. I’ve earned it."

Emma shifted on her blanket pile, propping herself up on one elbow. Her amber eyes, usually so bright with mischief, held a softer quality now—something almost vulnerable beneath the exhaustion.

"Hey, Julian?" Her voice was quieter than usual. "I kind of miss the others." She paused, chewing her lower lip. "You think they’re doing okay back at base?"

Julian’s gaze, which had been fixed on the window, shifted to her. The warmth in his expression deepened almost imperceptibly—a subtle softening around his eyes that only those who knew him well would recognize.

"They’re capable," he said quietly. "Celestia leads with precision. Clarissa keeps morale stable. Veronica’s sharp enough to spot trouble before it arrives. Aya’s forge provides equipment. Beatrix analyzes data faster than anyone. And Specter..." He paused. "Specter is Specter."

Emma snorted. "That’s not really an answer, Juli~an."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I’ll visit them. After this operation. Once we’ve made progress on the Eclipse network, I’ll return to base. Check on everyone personally."

Emma’s eyes widened slightly. "Hee? Seriously? You’d do that?" A teasing grin tugged at her lips, but there was genuine warmth beneath it. "That’s sweet and all, but you’ll just make yourself more tired. We’re already running around half the region beating up factions. Adding a detour to the base on top of that?"

From her spot near the window, Fey cracked one eye open. Her voice emerged dry and lazy, cutting through the moment with surgical precision.

"Julian. Do you even get tired? Like, physically? Mentally? Existence-ly?" She waved a vague hand in his direction. "Because you should probably rest. Like, actually rest. Not just ’sit in a corner and brood while technically not sleeping’ rest. Real rest."

She let out a long sigh, adjusting her position against the wall. "And don’t think I didn’t notice—you just got completely influenced by Emma’s ’I miss them’ talk. One sad puppy face from the fire girl and suddenly you’re adding side quests to the itinerary."

Emma’s head snapped toward Fey, her cheeks flushing. "Hey! I wasn’t making a sad puppy face! I was just... expressing my feelings! That’s normal! People do that!"

"Mm-hmm."

"And Julian’s not ’influenced’ by me! He’s just—he’s being nice! That’s allowed!"

"Sure, sure."

Emma flopped back onto her blankets with a huff, pulling the fabric over her head. "Ugh, whatever. I’m not arguing with you when I’m this tired. You win by default."