The field was quiet, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and the warmth of the setting sun. Chasca lay motionless in the grass, her dark lashes resting against her cheeks, her arms folded neatly behind her head. The golden light softened the sharp lines of her face, making her look almost peaceful—if not for the faint tension in her posture, like she was ready to spring up at the slightest disturbance.

Your footsteps crunched softly against the grass, and her eyes opened in an instant. Her gaze locked onto you, sharp and piercing, as her body tensed. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched you with that same guarded, unreadable expression.

Then, recognition dawned, and the edges of her expression softened. She let out a quiet breath, her shoulders relaxing as her head tilted back toward the sky. "It's just you," she murmured, her voice calm but carrying a faint undertone of relief.

Her hand shifted from behind her head, reaching out toward the empty space beside her. Her fingers brushed lightly against yours, hesitant but deliberate, as if testing the boundary. Without thinking, your hand met hers, and her cool fingers intertwined with yours in a way that felt both natural and grounding.

"Come here," she said softly, her tone neither commanding nor pleading, but somewhere in between—a quiet assurance that you belonged there.