Cira opened her eyes to the sunlight falling directly onto her face — and subsequently into her eyes as she opened them — and pulled the blanket over her head with a groan. But as she moved she flinched, hard; which made her flinch and groan again.
She felt like shit.
Slowly she moved the blanket Back down, it became hot quickly under it, and stared at the ceiling. The dull ache radiating from her temples clashed with the sunlight filtering through the blinds, making it feel like the room itself was throbbing.
Her ribs were the worst, sharp stabs of pain whenever she shifted, even if it was only slightly; her limbs were heavy and sore, like she’d been run over by something twice her size. And in a way, she had.
Her mind was foggy, the events of what brought her here slipping through her consciousness like sand through her fingers. There were flashes, disjointed images that didn’t really fit together—people shouting, the sound of glass breaking, her heart pounding in her chest. She frowned, trying to piece it all together, but every attempt was met with more confusion.
Her hearing aids lay on the desk beside her bed, the small devices glinting in the sunlight. Cira reached out slowly, her arm protesting the movement, and grabbed them. Gently, she placed them into her ears, the world suddenly becoming clearer, sharper, as sound rushed back to her. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan, the distant sound of people talking outside, the steady thrum of her own heartbeat—it all filtered back into her consciousness. The blanket no longer muffled the world, and for a moment, she allowed herself to sink into that small familiarity.
As she lay there, trying to gather her thoughts, the door to her room creaked open. Rian stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the sunlight in the hallway. Tall and lean, with dark tousled hair and sharp, angular features, Rian had always carried an air of effortless coolness, a natural confidence that bordered on arrogance. His eyes — those sharp, discerning eyes that always seemed to know what she was thinking—, deep green like hers, scanned the room quickly before landing on her, taking in her disheveled state.
«Morning, sunshine,» he said, smirking as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing his usual tactical gear, a light combat jacket and worn boots, which told Cira he was probably headed out on some mission soon. He had a faint scar on his left cheek, a remnant from a skirmish a few years back, and though he tried to hide it with his bravado, there was a gentleness about him when it came to her.
«I told you to Stop calling me that…» Cira muttered, wincing as she tried to sit up. She exhaled, her hand gingerly touching the side of her ribs where the bruises were most tender. She could still feel the phantom pressure from where the Gammawolf had thrown her into the rocks. How had she survived that? «Feels like I got hit by a truck or something.»
«You might as well have,» Rian said, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to her bed. «That Stalker nearly took you out. You’re lucky to still be breathing.»
Cira scowled. «I had it under control.»
«Yeah, sure. Your ‘under control’ was you bleeding out in the dirt,» Rian replied, though his tone wasn’t harsh, just matter-of-fact. He sat down on the edge of the bed, glancing over her bandages. "
«You need to stop trying to do everything on your own. You’re tough, but you’re not invincible.»
Rian’s eyes stayed on her face for a moment longer, as if he was weighing his next words carefully. Then, with a sigh, he stood up and moved toward the door. «Anyway,» he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile, «there's food downstairs. I figured you'd be hungry after almost kicking the bucket .»
Cira managed a tired smirk. «I didn’t almost kick the bucket.»
«Right,» he replied, his tone dry. «Because bleeding all over the place and passing out is a survival strategy.» His expression softened again, though.
«Seriously, though. You should eat something. I made breakfast, and for once, it's actually not something out of a ration pack. Might even taste halfway decent.»
Cira stared at him for a second, her stomach growling loudly in response. The thought of food hadn’t crossed her mind until now, but the idea of something warm—and real—was strangely comforting. She couldn’t remember the last time she'd actually enjoyed a meal. Between missions, injuries, and the constant stress of survival, it was hard to relax, to even think eating could be more than just a way to get nutrition in.
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She shifted again, this time pushing herself more upright, breathing a Sharp at the tightness in her ribs but ignoring it. «What did you make?»
Rian’s smirk returned. «Not telling. You’ll just have to come downstairs and find out.»
Cira rolled her eyes but carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed. As much as her Body was hurting, she wasn’t about to stay in bed all day feeling sorry for herself. She was alive, after all—sore, bruised, but alive. «Fine. But if it’s something disgusting, I’m throwing it at you.»
Rian laughed, a rare, genuine sound that lightened the mood in the room. «Deal. Just try not to fall down the stairs on your way.» He turned and started out the door, pausing briefly at the threshold. «Take it slow, okay? No need to prove anything right now.»
Cira stood slowly, feeling the soreness pull at her muscles. The pain radiated from her ribs, but she pushed it down, gritting her teeth as she took a careful step. Her legs felt weak, but she wasn’t about to let Rian see that. She steadied herself, one hand against the bed, the other gingerly pressing against her side. It wasn’t broken, at least not from what she could tell, but it hurt like hell. With a deep breath, she straightened up — glancing down at the wrinkled, oversized shirt she was wearing. She didn’t even remember how she got into bed, but the clean shirt was a sign Rian had taken care of her once again — and swallowed the discomfort as best she could.
The smell of something faintly savory wafted up the stairs, reminding her just how empty her stomach felt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten properly—probably before the Gammawolf fight, and that had been... how long? A day? More?
As Cira stepped into the hallway, the sounds of the house finally settled around her, grounding her in the familiar life. The quiet hum of the old air conditioning unit, the faint creak of floorboards from below. Her brother’s presence had a way of anchoring her, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud. For all his teasing, Rian had always been there when it counted.
The stairs loomed in front of her, and she exhaled slowly before making her way down, gripping the railing for support. Each step sent a jolt through her sore muscles, but she kept her pace steady, careful not to push too hard. She could almost hear Rian’s voice in her head, reminding her to "take it slow."
When she reached the bottom, the scent of breakfast hit her full force—eggs, maybe some bacon, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Her stomach growled louder in response, and she silently prayed that whatever Rian was making wouldn’t be as bad as some of his past attempts.
In the kitchen, Rian stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan with a practiced ease. His back was to her, but the sound of her entering the room made him glance over his shoulder. He smirked. «Thought I might have to drag you down here.»
Cira grunted, making her way to the table. «I wasn’t going to pass out again, if that’s what you’re worried about.»
«Good to know,» he replied, turning back to the stove. «Because I’m not carrying you back upstairs. Your stubborn ass can figure that out on its own.»
Cira rolled her eyes at him but didn’t respond more than that. Instead, she eased herself into one of the chairs, letting out a small, relieved sigh as she finally sat down. Her body was screaming at her to rest, but she wouldn’t give it the satisfaction just yet.
Rian turned, placing a plate in front of her—a surprisingly normal-looking breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. «There,» he said. «Not gourmet, but it’s edible.»
She raised an eyebrow at the food, then glanced up at him. «You sure about that?»
He laughed. «Just eat it. You’ll need the energy when you go back to pretending you can handle everything on your own.»
Cira grinned despite herself, picking up her fork. She wouldn’t admit it, but having her brother around—especially now—made everything feel just a little bit easier to bear.
«Where did you even get the stuff for it?»
Rian sat down opposite of her with his own plate. «Jacc’s Razorbacks and Plowbirds. He was nice enough to share with us, when I told him that I wanted you to eat something proper when you wake up.»
Cira raised an eyebrow at the mention of Jacc. He was a familiar face around the village, though not exactly a regular. Jacc’s group was always on the move, drifting from one settlement to another, trading what they could find or hunt along the way. They weren’t bandits—at least, not by the village’s standards—but they weren’t exactly your typical traders either. His group, a small band of misfits and mercenaries, lived outside the village, more nomadic than the rest, trading with whoever offered the best deal and surviving in the wilds without complaint. Jacc was tough, practical, and fair. But he also had a sense of humor beneath the hard exterior, something Cira had seen only a few times.
She remembered the first time she’d met him—he had been quiet, sizing her up with those intense eyes of his, and had finally given her a slow nod, as if she had passed some unspoken test. Since then, they had crossed paths occasionally, trading stories or supplies when their groups intersected. He was good people, even if he preferred to keep a healthy distance from village life.
She swallowed and leaned back in her chair, still feeling the strain in her ribs but managing to push it aside for the moment. «I’m surprised he didn’t try to charge you extra for that. Guy never misses an opportunity to make a deal.»
Rian shrugged, taking a bite of his own food. «He tried. I told him it was for you, though, and that seemed to shut him up for once.»
Cira snorted softly. «I guess even Jacc has a soft spot.»
Rian shrugged, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. « I think he’s just impressed that you took down a Gammawolf on your own. And speaking of…» He trailed off, wiping his hands on a napkin before leaning back in his chair, that oh so familiar smirk playing on his lips. «We’re having a little get-together in a week. Jacc and his crew, a few from the village, even some from the outposts. Apparently, we’re cooking the Gammawolf you killed. Gonna make a feast out of it. And everyone will be there. Jacc’s bringing his group, the villagers will show up, and I think even a few people from the outpost are coming.»
Cira couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. «A party to celebrate not getting eaten by a Gammawolf. Sounds about right for this place.»
Rian leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. «You did good, Cira. Real good. You’ve earned a break, even if you won’t admit it. Enjoy it while you can, yeah?»
Cira smiled faintly, though the weight of everything that had happened still lingered at the back of her mind. But for now, with the warmth of the meal in front of her and her brother across the table, she allowed herself a moment to just... be.