Yelena pressed her palms to her temples as though she could physically stop the ache building behind her eyes.
She could fight for days, carve through monster ranks until her blade steamed—but nothing, absolutely nothing, drained her faster than five minutes trapped between Mika and Nadia.
The sharpness in her shoulders melted into exhaustion; the thought of bed, of quiet, of blessed solitude, was suddenly the sweetest dream imaginable.
Mika noticed. He always did. The little bastard had the uncanny knack for catching the smallest shifts in her tone or posture, as if her heartbeat translated into subtitles for him alone.
And before she could bark that she was fine when she caught his gaze, he was already behind her desk, dragging her chair over with easy confidence.
"Sit." He said simply, nudging her shoulders until she sank into it. She blinked up at him, surprised at how gentle his hands felt.
