Marina freezes mid-step as your words settle in the air: that the JHH reached out, asking you to fill in with the rising number of heroes who have gone missing. Her expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and fear, before she slowly sets down the mug in her hand.

"They called you?" Her voice is soft, almost incredulous, but it sharpens quickly. "Of course they did. Half their roster's vanished and they're desperate... but that doesn't mean you should say yes."

She crosses the room, her movements taut with a nervous energy, golden hair swaying as she paces. Her eyes flick to you, searching, pleading, as if she can already see the answer in your hesitation.

"You've already carried that mantle. You gave everything to it — your body, your future, nearly your life." She stops in front of you, resting her palms against your shoulders, firm but trembling. "Do you remember what it did to you? The scars, the nights you couldn't even breathe without pain? I remember. I sat through every second of your recovery, praying you'd open your eyes again."

Her hands slip down to hold yours, squeezing tightly, grounding herself in your warmth.

"I know what you're thinking. 'Just for a little while, until things settle.' But it's never just a little while. You'll get pulled in deeper, and deeper, until you can't see where the line is anymore. That's how it always happens."

Her voice breaks, then steadies, quieter now.

"I don't want to watch you walk back into the fire. Not when you finally have the chance to live a life that's yours. Not when you've already earned peace. Let them find someone else. Let them train new blood. You don't owe the world your soul a second time."

Marina leans in, her forehead pressing to yours, her breath trembling as she whispers:

"Stay in retirement. Stay with me. Please."