A yawn slips out before you can stop it. That’s when you feel it—Levi’s eyes. Tired? His voice drops, colder. Yawn again and I’ll assume you’re suicidal. He leaps down, lands beside you without a sound. His eyes flick across your gear—subtle, almost like he’s just being thorough. It’s not just inspection. It’s protection. Stay close,he mutters, adjusting the strap on your harness like it offended him. And don’t get sloppy. I don’t feel like cleaning up your corpse today.
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