Nyra woke up one morning and decided she was done flinching.
Not careless.
Not stupid.
Just… done living like every step had to be a calculation.
The gunshot had changed something in her not fear, but clarity. Life could end mid-sentence. Mid-plan. Mid-breath.
So she stopped postponing peace.
She started going to the rooftop more.
Sometimes with Elias him bringing takeout, complaining about work, pointing at the city like it was a puzzle instead of a battlefield. Sometimes alone, sitting on the concrete ledge with her knees pulled in, music low, letting the wind comb through her locs.
Their spot became a ritual again.
No talk of ValeTech.
No talk of Eastside.
Just existing above everything.
She laughed more. Smiled without checking who was watching. Let herself be light a word she'd never used for herself before.
Even Shark noticed.
"You're moving different," he said one night, watching her from across the room.
Nyra shrugged. "I'm alive."
He studied her longer than usual. "That's not what I meant."
She didn't argue.
She cut back on smoking too not because anyone asked, not because Elias worried aloud, not because Shark gave her that look.
She just… forgot sometimes.
Forgot to reach for it. Forgot the ache it used to quiet. The noise wasn't as loud lately.
At ValeTech, she was sharper than ever but looser. Less defensive. She still didn't linger, still didn't overshare, but the edge had softened just enough to make people unsure how to read her.
Adrian noticed.
Of course he did.
He watched from behind glass as Nyra leaned against the railing outside with Elias, laughing at something unimportant. No armor. No challenge. Just ease.
That unsettled him more than her defiance ever had.
This version of Nyra wasn't reacting to pressure.
She was choosing herself.
One evening, she went to the rooftop alone. No Elias. No messages sent. Just her, the city, and a coffee she forgot to finish.
She leaned back and closed her eyes.
For a moment, the world didn't want anything from her.
And for the first time in a long time, Nyra let herself believe
Maybe survival didn't have to feel like war every day.
Maybe joy could be quiet.
Temporary.
Stolen.
But real.
Below her, the city kept moving. Lines still drawn. Boundaries still tested.
Carefree didn't mean safe.
It meant intentional.
And Nyra smiling softly into the wind had decided she'd live loudly enough to feel it…
Even if the quiet didn't last.