The lights in the corridor had dimmed by the time Gabriel stood.

He didn’t remember deciding to move. For a while, he’d just sat there, alone in the cooling carriage, legs drawn close, tablet long forgotten beside him. The meeting was over. The others had drifted out in groups or pairs, their voices fading behind metal doors and turning corners. He hadn’t noticed them leave. Only the hum of the train remained, steady and low, like a mechanical heartbeat beneath the floor.

Outside the darkened window, the landscape blurred, twisted metal, blackened fields, and distant flashes of unstable sky. All bathed in violet dusk.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. His skin felt too thin, like everything, the glances, the whispers, the silence, had scraped too close. His stylus still sat crooked on the bench beside him. He left it.

As he stepped into the corridor, the cool air brushed his face, a shock after the thick tension of the meeting. The walls curved gently inward here, lined with recessed panels and soft-glow lights that flickered in alternating pulses. He didn’t know where he was going, not really. Just away.

Everyone else seemed to have vanished, tucked into cabins, hunched over mess tables, whispering over ration packs and quiet screens. Gabriel didn’t want company. He didn’t want more looks. More judgment. He wasn’t sure he could take it.

He passed one of the side compartments where two Espers were quietly arguing over map data. Their voices dipped when they saw him. One of them turned his back. The other said nothing, just watched him pass with unreadable eyes.

His stomach twisted.

Eventually, he reached the small viewing alcove tucked just past the observation deck, a place built for silence. For reflection. He leaned into it instinctively, pressing one palm to the cold curve of the window. The glass resisted his touch, and his breath left a faint mist where it touched.

The world beyond the glass was barely a world at all, just black ridges and bent towers, pieces of a civilization warped by the rift’s long shadow. It looked so far away. So untouchable.

Gabriel let his forehead rest against the window. The cool surface anchored him.

Part of him wanted to turn around. Go to Sasha. Say the words he didn’t want to say.

Reassign me.

He was sure they’d hear him out. Sasha would. Natalia might not agree, but she’d listen. Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

But as the thought took shape, another voice echoed louder in his head.

“You’ve been chosen for a reason.”

Chosen.

The word clung to his ribs like something sharp.

He didn’t feel chosen. He felt like a gamble.

He let his eyes close, just for a moment, and felt the pulse of the train beneath him. It felt like it was carrying him toward something final. Something he hadn’t agreed to.

His reflection caught his eye, pale, shadowed, flickering faintly in the window’s dark curve. The same face he’d seen in mission photos. The same eyes that didn’t seem to belong to someone who could survive a Red-Class Hollow Zone.

He whispered into the dark, not knowing if he wanted an answer.

“Why me?”

A faint rustle made him blink.

“Mind if I sit?” Natalia’s voice, low but steady, cut through the haze in his chest.

Gabriel straightened. He hadn’t heard her approach. She always moved with such quiet purpose, every step deliberate, never wasted. Her uniform looked untouched by the long day, jacket still crisp, boots silent against the carriage floor. But her eyes, green and sharp, had softened around the edges.

He gave a small nod. “Sure.”

She slid onto the bench beside him, her posture composed, gaze following his out the window where violet dusk was melting into indigo. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was heavy, like shared weight. Familiar.

“You’re gripping your hands too tightly again,” she said at last.

Gabriel blinked. He hadn’t realized it, until he looked down and saw the faint red indentations where his nails had pressed into his palm.

He tried to unclench them. “Sorry.”

Natalia shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize for being tense.”

Her voice was calm, but there was something underneath it, an undercurrent of concern she didn’t voice outright.

“Be honest instead.”

That was the thing about Natalia. She never demanded anything from him except the truth.

He hesitated. “I thought I could handle this,” he said quietly. “I thought if I just… worked harder, pushed through, then I’d be ready.”

“And now?”

Gabriel exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Now it feels like all that work wasn’t enough. Like I’m back to being twelve years old again. Freezing up every time someone raises their voice.”

Natalia’s eyes flicked toward him, the expression unreadable.

“I’m scared,” he said, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat. “Not just of the zone. Or the mission. I can handle that. I think. But him…”

She didn’t need to ask who.

“He makes me feel... off-balance. Like everything I’ve built could collapse if I let it slip for one second. He’s…” Gabriel’s voice dropped, barely audible. “Too much.”

Natalia looked away, a small breath leaving her lips. She reached out, just briefly, and touched his forearm.

“Gabriel. You don’t need to explain. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked to hold yourself together.”

He swallowed.

“Leonardo’s presence doesn’t undo your progress. And you’re not obligated to understand what you feel, not right away. You just have to face it. Name it. Let it exist without letting it take over.”

Gabriel closed his eyes. His heart was thudding again, not from panic, but from being seen too clearly.

“I keep wondering what he sees when he looks at me,” he said. “He’s… everything I’m not. Confident. Reckless. Untouched by fear. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be around him.”

Natalia’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not supposed to be anything but yourself. You’re not a mirror. You’re not an ideal. You’re Gabriel Laurent. You earned your place here, every inch of it.”

He didn’t answer right away. “What if that’s not enough?”

“It is,” she said softly. “And if you forget that again, I’ll remind you. As many times as it takes.”

The quiet stretched again. Then Natalia stood, brushing imaginary dust from her coat, and gestured toward the corridor.

“Go eat. You skipped lunch. You won’t sleep if you don’t put something in your stomach first.”

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded.

He rose slowly, tablet under one arm, still unsure what exactly had shifted inside him, but something had.

She waited until he’d taken a few steps down the hall before her voice followed him.

“Gabriel.”

He turned.

“I believe in you,” she said, not as comfort but as fact. “Even when you don’t.”

Gabriel stepped into the mess hall just as the lights dimmed slightly for evening cycle. The line for food was short, the voices low and scattered. He collected his tray in silence, finding comfort in the warmth of the bowl cradled in his hands.  

  

“Someone finally decided to show up.”  

  

The voice came from his left, familiar, teasing. He turned, startled, and saw them: Lily and Emily, seated at a corner table, identical in face but not in posture. Emily leaned forward, eyes bright with mock indignation, while Lily lounged back with her spoon halfway to her mouth, an eyebrow arched.  

  

Gabriel blinked. “I... I’m sorry. We said we’d meet in the lounge after boarding. I didn’t…”  

  

Lily waved it off, her tone easy. “You were already walking into a storm.”  

  

Emily smiled gently. “We were in the lounge. We saw you come in, right before that Esper pulled you into his lap.”  

  

Lily smirked. “Ricci, right? Everyone on the team knows his face. It was like watching a routine boarding turn into a scandal.”

  

Gabriel flushed. “It wasn’t... He just...”  

  

Emily lifted a hand. “Relax. We saw Sasha pull you out of it and after that it felt like half the train was buzzing. You were surrounded by people who could handle it. We didn’t want to crowd you, especially when the other Guides started whispering.”  

  

“You didn’t even notice us, anyway,” Lily added with a shrug, “but it was hard to miss the ripple effect.”  

  

Gabriel sat down slowly, something easing in his chest. “Still… I should’ve said something. I just... I guess I got swept into everything and forgot how to breathe.”  

  

“We get it,” Emily said gently. “Being thrown into the spotlight like that... it’s a lot.”

  

“We’re still here,” Lily added, nudging her roll in his direction. “You haven’t lost us.”

Lily and Emily stayed with him for a little while longer, chatting lightly about team rumors and the food, doing what they always did, making the noise in his head feel a little less loud. But eventually, they stood and left with quiet goodnights. Gabriel remained behind in the now-empty mess area, letting the calm settle around him like a blanket drawn too thin. The warmth of their presence lingered… and faded.

The mess hall had long emptied, and most of the team had retreated to their compartments. The train now whispered with a low mechanical hum and the occasional distant footstep. Somewhere, someone was softly tuning a comm device.

Gabriel sat near one of the wide corridor windows, legs pulled up slightly, arms wrapped around them. His tray had been returned. Dinner eaten in silence. No one had sat near him, not from cruelty, just the unspoken lines that still hadn’t blurred.

He pressed his temple lightly against the cool glass, watching the blurred terrain sweep past. The vibration of the train beneath him was steady but faint, like the pulse of something massive and alive. His thoughts weren’t quiet. They looped, snippets of voices, fragments of stares, the assignment list burning behind his eyes.

And Leonardo. Always Leonardo.

He heard the footsteps before he saw him.

Gabriel tensed, just slightly.

Leonardo stopped a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest, jacket half-unzipped, hair still damp from a shower. He didn’t say anything at first.

Gabriel didn’t move. The reflection of Leonardo’s silhouette wavered in the window beside his own.

“I wanted to say something,” Leonardo said finally. “If it’s not too late.”

Gabriel didn’t turn. “About what?”

Leonardo shifted, voice a little rougher than usual. “Earlier. When you boarded. When I pulled you in my lap like that.”

Gabriel flushed, heat rushing straight to his face. His stomach twisted. Of course it was about that.

Leonardo kept going, quieter now. “I didn’t mean to mess with you. I thought you were just nervous. I didn’t know.”

Gabriel finally turned his head. “Didn’t know what?”

Leonardo’s eyes met his. For once, there wasn’t a trace of teasing in them.

“That Espers make you flinch.” he said simply.

The words hung in the air. Not judgmental. Just honest.

Gabriel looked away again. “I don’t flinch.”

“You did.” Leonardo said gently. “You still do. And I get why, now. You’ve got a reason.”

Silence stretched between them again. Gabriel folded his arms tighter around his knees.

“You didn’t deserve me making it worse.” Leonardo continued. “So this is me saying I’ll back off. No comments. No jokes. I’ll stay in line. I’ll follow your lead, Guide.”

He even added the title at the end, like it mattered.

Gabriel wasn’t sure if it did. But something in his chest ached anyway.

“This isn’t about you,” he said softly. “It never was.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t. I’m not like the others.” he added, words tripping over themselves. “I’m not the kind of Guide who commands attention. I’m not made for these high-risk pairings. I study and plan and second-guess everything. I don’t just act.”

“I noticed,” Leonardo said, without sarcasm.

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “That’s not a compliment.”

Leonardo shrugged. “Didn’t say it was. But it’s true. You think. A lot. That’s not a weakness.”

Gabriel blinked, unsure how to respond.

Leonardo leaned against the wall beside him, not too close. Just enough to be present.

“I’m not going to pretend I get what it’s like,” he said. “But I know what pressure looks like. I know what it feels like when everyone’s watching and waiting for you to mess up.”

Gabriel looked down at his hands. “You don’t think I’m a mistake?”

“No,” Leonardo said immediately. “I think you’re scared. But you showed up anyway. That’s more than a lot of people do.”

Gabriel swallowed. The tightness in his throat hadn’t eased, but it shifted. Became something else.

He glanced sideways. “So… what now?”

Leonardo straightened slightly, stretching one shoulder. “Now? I leave you alone unless you want otherwise. But we’re on the same team. I’d rather not be strangers out there.”

“We’re not strangers,” Gabriel said, barely above a whisper.

Leonardo smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Just real. “Good.”

He gave a small nod, then pushed off the wall and walked away, steps fading into the quiet.

Gabriel sat there for a long time after he was gone. The pressure in his chest hadn’t vanished. But something had softened. Not trust. Not yet.

But maybe… the beginning of it.

Later, Gabriel walked back to his compartment, steps slow, the train’s carpet muting every sound. The lights had dimmed for evening, casting everything in amber and shadow. Most doors were closed. Only the faint hum of the engine and distant voices broke the quiet.

His room was small, just a bed, a desk, and a screen set to low brightness. His uniform jacket hung by the door.

He didn’t turn on the light. Just stepped inside, closed the door, and sank onto the bed. The weight of the day settled over him like damp fabric.

He sat still for a while.

He didn't cry. But he couldn't breathe easy either.

Eventually, he opened a drawer and pulled out a paper notebook and pen. No tablet. Just ink. Quieter.

He turned to a blank page.

Wrote nothing.

Leonardo’s voice still echoed. You showed up anyway. The words sat heavier than most insults. He didn’t know how to accept that kind of grace.

But it had reached something in him.

Gabriel set the pen aside and turned to the window. Outside, the night had consumed everything beyond the tracks.

He thought of his mother. Always steady. Always capable.

He didn’t feel like either.

The briefing. The whispers. The mission's reclassification.

And what if he failed?

What if he couldn’t guide Leonardo?

What if Kael dismissed him?

What if the zone broke them all before anything else did?

He pressed a hand over his chest. His heartbeat answered, slow, faint.

The silence was thick.

His reflection flickered. Just once. A trick of motion. But for a moment, it didn’t look like him.

He reached for the glass. The image stilled.

Still him. Still scared. Still here.

“I’ll survive it,” he whispered. “Even if I don’t believe it yet.”