Behind her, the celebration continues. Raucous singing from a tavern two streets over. The occasional burst of Lucky Roux's distinctive laugh. She'd slipped away an hour ago, claiming she needed air. Nobody had questioned it. Nobody ever did when she wandered off alone.

The moon hangs low and heavy, nearly full, casting silver light across the still water. It's peaceful here. Quiet. The kind of quiet that makes Y/n's thoughts grow louder instead of softer.

And those thoughts keep circling back to the same image. Pink hair. A green headscarf with white cloud patterns. Purple goggles pushed up on his forehead. The way he'd laughed at something—she didn't even know what—with his whole face lighting up.

She doesn't hear footsteps approaching. Too lost in her own head.

Y/n turns.

Pink hair catches the moonlight. Green headscarf. Purple goggles. Blue eyes, wide with surprise and something like embarrassment.