Private The Name That Pulled Me Here

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith didn't argue.
He gave a small, almost tired smile at her words, the kind that came from recognition rather than humor. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Seen too many people crash and burn because they don't know when to stop. Push too hard, too long… then wonder why everything falls apart."

He shifted his weight, armor giving a soft, familiar creak. "Brightest flames burn the quickest," he added. "Looks impressive right up until there's nothing left but smoke."
He didn't reach for the datapad. Didn't even look like he was tempted. Instead, he stepped back, giving her the space to finish closing up, trusting the process the same way he trusted her hands.

A few minutes later, the workshop door hissed shut behind him.
Outside, the corridor was dimmer, quieter, less alive than the shop had been. He stood off to one side, helmet tucked under one arm as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, vertebrae popping faintly beneath scarred muscle. The motion was slow, deliberate. Necessary.

He waited.
Not pacing. Not checking the time. Just leaning there, breathing, letting the hum of the station fill the gaps where urgency usually lived. When she finally emerged, lights dead behind her and the shop properly asleep, his gaze lifted to meet hers.

"No rush," he said simply. "Figured I'd walk with you."
There was no pressure in it. No expectation. Just presence.
And for once, that felt like enough.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana finished sealing the shop before she stepped out, the last indicator lights dimming behind her as the door locked into place. She took a breath that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with transition, work set aside, focus released.

When she looked at him, there was a quiet ease there, professional but open.

"Thank you," she said, genuinely. "For waiting, and for not hovering. Not everyone understands that some things are better left to settle on their own."

She adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder and fell into step beside him without hurry.

"I didn't want to drink while I was working on your device," she added, her tone warm but matter-of-fact. "It deserves a clear head until it's fully done and behaving."

A faint smile touched her mouth, brief but real.

"But I appreciate you agreeing to go for one after," she continued. "I know a place that stays quiet even when the rest of this world doesn't. It'll be a nice change of pace."

She glanced at him as they walked, then forward again, comfortable with the shared silence.

"And for what it's worth," she added softly, "thank you for trusting me with it. That means something."

The corridor stretched ahead of them, unhurried, and for once, Ana allowed herself to enjoy the simple fact of leaving work behind and choosing what came next.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith let out a short, dry laugh, the kind that was more habit than amusement. "Always down for a drink," he said quietly, voice low but easy. "Demons gotta drown somehow… for when they forget I fight back." He allowed the joke to linger just long enough for a corner of his mouth to twitch, the humor self-mocking, familiar.


He glanced at her briefly as they walked, noting the ease in her stride. She'd given him no reason not to trust her, no hesitation, no slip of care when he'd handed over his datapad, no unnecessary questioning. For someone who dealt in precision, judgment, and information, that spoke louder than any words.

With a slight bow of his head and one hand held out to the side, he added, voice low and teasing, "Lead the way, m'lady." A soft chuckle followed, quiet against the hum of the corridor, carrying just enough warmth to suggest he was genuinely looking forward to this rare downtime.


He fell into step beside her, helmet still tucked under one arm, moving in rhythm with her pace. The weight of the day. the repairs, the waiting, the memories he carried, seemed to ease fractionally with every step. For once, he didn't need to be alert, didn't need to calculate, didn't need to fight.


The corridor stretched ahead, dim and steady, but for the first time that day, it felt less like a path to be navigated and more like a rare chance to simply walk beside someone who'd earned his trust. And that alone was enough.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana caught the tone shift immediately. Not the words, not really, but the cadence underneath them. She didn't react outwardly, didn't tease or deflect, just noted it the way she noted patterns in code or stress fractures in hardware and quietly filed it away for later consideration.

She inclined her head once and started walking, setting an easy pace.

"There's a place a few levels down," she said, voice calm and conversational. "Quiet enough that people go there to be left alone, not seen. It's called The Copper Wake."

As they moved, she added, almost casually,

"They keep the lighting low, the music softer than most places on this station, and they don't rush you out the door. Which matters more than the drink most days."

The corridor lights shifted as they descended, foot traffic thinning. Somewhere along the way, small talk naturally filled the space between them. Nothing heavy. Comments about the station's layout, how often power conduits were rerouted, and the strange reliability of places that survived because no one tried to improve them too much. Ana listened as much as she spoke, responding when it mattered, letting silence exist when it didn't.

She found herself faintly pleased, in a quiet, practical way, at how easily the walk settled into rhythm. No pressure. No performance. Just presence.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, not looking at him directly but meaning it all the same. "For waiting, and for understanding why I don't drink while I'm working on someone's device. It's appreciated."

They rounded a final corner, the soft amber glow of a discreet sign coming into view ahead.

"We're almost there," she added. "And for what it's worth… it's good company for a long day."

Not an invitation dressed up as something else. Just a simple statement, offered honestly, as she led the way toward the bar.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith let out a low breath that might've been a chuckle if it had wanted to be, the sound rough but not humorless. He adjusted the helmet under his arm as they walked, thumb idly tracing a worn edge like muscle memory had taken over.
"Yeah… about that," he said after a moment, tone easy but honest. "The flask thing. Didn't even think about it."
He glanced sideways at her briefly, then back down the corridor ahead.
"Habit from the service," he went on. "Long waits. First deployments. After-action shakes when the adrenaline finally realizes it's done." A faint shrug rolled through his shoulders. "You learn quick that sometimes people don't need words. Just something familiar. Something that says they made it through."

A corner of his mouth twitched, self-aware now.
"Guess my hands remembered before my head did."
They walked a few steps in silence before he continued, quieter but steady.
"For what it's worth, you gave me no reason not to trust you. You didn't rush. You didn't sell me confidence you hadn't earned. You treated my gear like it mattered because it mattered to me." He nodded once, decisive. "That's enough."

The amber glow of The Copper Wake reflected faintly off the corridor walls now, close enough to promise rest without demanding it yet.
He stretched his back subtly, armor shifting with a soft, familiar weight, then looked at her again, curious now, not guarded.
"So," he asked, voice turning conversational, grounded, "what got you into tech and information in the first place? Not the résumé answer. The real one."
No pressure in it. Just interest, offered the same way he'd learned to offer everything that mattered, steady, and without expectation.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't stop walking when she spoke. The Copper Wake was close now, its muted amber glow bleeding softly into the corridor, and she kept her eyes forward as if the story mattered less than the timing of when it was told.

"I wasn't always a mechanic," she said, voice even, measured. "Or a fixer. Or whatever label people are most comfortable with using."

She paused just long enough for the weight of that to land.

"I grew up in a Core World media district. One of those places where information is everywhere, constant, loud. Most people drown in it. I learned early that the real value isn't in what people say, but in what repeats, what shifts, what suddenly goes quiet."

A faint breath of amusement slipped into her tone, subtle and brief.

"As a teenager, I used an alias. Everyone did. I sold gossip, intercepted chatter, minor leaks—nothing heroic, nothing that would make a history file. Just enough to learn how people lie to themselves and what they're willing to pay to keep doing it."

They reached the bar's entrance. She slowed, not stopping yet.

"When I got better, I changed the name. Cleaned it up. Built a reputation that didn't rely on noise or bravado. Quiet work lasts longer."

She finally glanced his way, expression open but carefully neutral.

"Names change," she added gently. "Skills don't. And patterns don't forget you once you learn how to read them."

The doors to The Copper Wake slid open, warm light and low sound spilling out around them.

"That's as much of the past as I usually share," she finished, not defensive, just honest. "You earned that much."

Then she stepped inside, leaving the rest unsaid—not hidden, just handled with care.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith followed her through the sliding doors, the warm amber light of The Copper Wake washing over his armor and letting him relax just enough to feel the shift from station corridors to a place meant for people to breathe. He let the helmet stay under his arm, fingers brushing lightly over its edge, not quite ready to set it down yet.

He gave a short, quiet nod at her words, voice low but steady. "I know what that's like," he said. "Changing names. Starting over. Not everyone gets it."

He leaned slightly against the bar's frame as they moved further inside, eyes scanning the low-lit interior. "I was standard infantry when I first joined the High Republic military. Same face, same body… different purpose every day. Then spec ops came along, and I got a call sign. Ironwraith. Became the name everyone used. My old name… I've mostly forgotten it. Doesn't matter anymore, not in the field." He let the words hang for a beat, quiet but honest.

"Names change," he continued, a faint echo of her own phrasing in his tone. "Skills matter. Patterns matter. People remember."

He glanced at her, one corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest grin. "Since you did the hard part today," he added, voice dry but warm, "first round's on me. Unless you want to get me to earn it in some other way."


He stepped fully inside now, letting the muted hum of the bar settle around them, following her toward a table without pushing, just present, ready to finally trade the hum of solder and diagnostics for something quieter, slower, and human.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana inclined her head slightly at his offer, the gesture small but sincere, and let the corner of her mouth soften into something warmer than it had been all day.

"I'll accept that," she said, calm and easy. "You already earned it by not rushing me and not hovering. That puts you ahead of most people who walk into my shop."

She stepped a little further into The Copper Wake, scanning the room with a practiced glance before angling them toward a quieter table set back from the bar, half-shadowed and insulated from the louder conversations. It was clearly a spot she'd chosen before, one where you could talk without being overheard and sit without being watched.

"This place stays busy," she added as she slid into her seat, setting her hands neatly on the table. "But if you pick the corners right, it forgets you're here. I like that."

Her eyes lifted to him again, attentive but unguarded.

"And for what it's worth," she continued, voice steady, "call signs make sense. Names are for who you were. The rest is just what works."

She gestured lightly toward the bar.

"Ale is fine for me," she said. "Nothing too sharp. I'd like to still feel my thoughts afterward."

Settling back, she let out a quiet breath, the first real pause she'd taken since closing the shop.

"Thank you for the drink," she added, genuine. "And for the walk. It's been a long day."

The table, the low light, the steady hum of the bar wrapped around them, and for the moment, that was enough.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith took the seat opposite her, smooth and unhurried, angling the chair just enough that his back wasn't to the room. Old habits. The kind that never quite left, no matter how many names you shed along the way. From there, he had a clean line of sight to the door, the bar's reflections caught faintly in the edge of his visor before he set the helmet down beside him, palm resting on it for a moment like a punctuation mark.

He leaned back slightly, posture relaxed but not careless, one arm draped along the chair as his gaze flicked briefly over the room before settling back on her.
"Fair warning," he said, voice low, easy, threaded with a dry edge of humor. "I sit where I can see exits. Not paranoia, just experience that refuses to shut the hell up."
His eyes shifted to the bar at her gesture, then back.

"So," he continued, a small tilt of his head. "What's your poison of choice, Ana? Ale's noted, but I'm guessing you've got a preference beyond 'won't ruin my night.'"
A faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Something you drink because you want it, not because it does the job."

He rose smoothly, already halfway committed to standing before the decision fully showed on his face.
"And don't worry," he added, voice softer now, more sincere. "First round's on me. Consider it thanks, for the datapad, the patience… and for proving I didn't make a mistake trusting you."


There it was. Not said heavily. Not dressed up. Just a truth offered the same way he'd learned to offer everything that mattered, plain, steady, no expectation attached.

He paused, glancing back once more.
"I'll be right back," he said. "Try not to disappear while I'm gone. I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't comment on how he chose his seat, but she noticed it immediately. The angle, the clear view of the door, the way his body never quite surrendered its awareness. When she took her own chair, she did so with equal care, turning it just enough that a mirrored reflection in the polished wall gave her a secondary view of the room without having to look like she was watching anyone at all. Old habits did not announce themselves. They simply acted.

When she spoke, her voice was easy, unforced.

"Ion Pulse Elixir," she said. "It's bright, fruity, a little dangerous if you forget how strong it is. Think tropical, not refined. I like drinks that don't pretend they're serious."

A faint curve touched her mouth.

"But ale's perfectly fine too," she added. "Sometimes it's nicer to drink something honest instead of something engineered."

She rested one forearm on the table, posture relaxed without being careless, gaze steady as he stood.

"And don't worry," she said when he mentioned disappearing. "I'm not going anywhere."

The bar hummed around them, low conversation and clinking glass filling the space where solder smoke and diagnostics had been earlier. It felt… earned. A pause, not an escape.

"Take your time," she added quietly as he turned toward the bar. "I'll be right here."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith gave her a short nod as he stood, the kind that said acknowledged more than heard, and made his way to the bar with an easy, unhurried stride. Up close, he leaned an elbow against the worn counter, voice low enough to blend into the Copper Wake's hum.


"Ion Pulse Elixir," he said to the bartender. "And make it right, bright, fruity, the kind that reminds you it's got teeth." A pause, then, "For me? Something strong. No theatrics. If it tastes like regret and poor decisions, you're on the right track."

A minute later he was back, moving with the same quiet awareness, setting her glass down first. He did it carefully, aligning it so the condensation ring wouldn't creep toward her sleeve, before placing his own beside it.

"There you go," he said, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "Tropical danger, as requested. If it starts glowing or trying to escape the glass, that's on them, not me."

He took his seat again, angling just enough to keep the door in view, then lifted his own drink in a small, informal toast.
"To honest drinks," he added. "And to taking a breather before the universe decides to get loud again."
He took a measured sip, winced faintly, then let out a quiet huff of a laugh.

"Yep," he muttered. "That'll do it. Reminds me why I don't make a habit of forgetting how strong things are."
His gaze flicked back to her, easier now, settled.
"So," he said, nodding toward her glass, "tell me, does it live up to the description, or am I about to get blamed for poisoning the tech who just saved my datapad?"

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana waited until he was seated again before lifting her glass, fingers cool against the condensation. She didn't rush it. First impressions mattered, even with drinks.

She took a measured sip, letting the flavor settle properly. Citrus first, something bright and tropical, then the sharper edge underneath that reminded you it wasn't just juice pretending to be dangerous.

A small, approving nod followed.

"It lives up to it," she said. "Fruity enough to make you underestimate it, punchy enough to remind you why that's a mistake."

She set the glass down carefully, rotating it slightly so it sat closer to the center of the table. As she did, she shifted just enough in her chair to angle her line of sight past his shoulder toward the bar mirror. Between that reflection and the open floor behind him, she had a clean read on both the entrance and the deeper room without needing to turn her head.

Old habits, different trade.

"And no," she added mildly, "if I end up poisoned tonight, it won't be because of your drink choices. I've had worse ideas before lunch."

There was a faint warmth in her expression now, relaxed but attentive.

"Ion Pulse Elixir's my go-to when I want something that feels natural," she continued. "Not engineered to impress, not pretending to be subtle. Just…honest about what it is."

She lifted her glass again, not quite a toast this time, more a quiet acknowledgment.

"And I'm not going anywhere," she said, echoing his earlier concern with gentle certainty. "We've both earned a pause."

Another sip, slower this time.

"So," Ana added, glancing at his glass with mild curiosity, "on a scale from 'regret' to 'war crime,' how bad did you let them make yours?"

The Copper Wake hummed around them, busy but distant, the kind of place where conversations could breathe without being overheard and where two people used to watching the world could finally sit without needing to move.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith let out a low breath that was halfway to a laugh as he settled into the chair across from her.
"On that scale?" he said, glancing down at his glass. "All of the above."


He lifted it, paused just long enough as if reconsidering his life choices, then took a solid pull. Whatever he'd ordered had bite, enough that his jaw tightened for a second before he exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah," he added, voice roughened but amused. "That tracks."

As he set the glass down, his hand twitched toward his belt without him seeming to realize it. The motion stopped midway. He noticed it this time. After a beat, he shook his head slightly at himself.
"Sorry," he said, not defensive, just honest. "Habit."


He reached for his helmet, and set it on the table beside him, careful with it despite everything. Then, after a brief hesitation, he unfastened his belt as well and laid it next to the helmet, the quiet clink of metal sounding louder to him than it probably was.
"There," he said, a little self-aware chuckle escaping him. "That's me trying to convince my brain we're not on duty."
He leaned back slightly, shoulders rolling as if testing how much tension he could afford to let go.

"Relaxing's still… new," he admitted. "Took a long time where sitting with your back to a wall and a drink in hand meant you were about to get real familiar with bad luck. Hard to unlearn that shit."
His eyes flicked briefly to the door out of instinct, then back to her, softer now.
"But I'm tryin'," he added. "You don't give a lot of reasons not to."


He raised his glass again, this time in a more deliberate gesture, not quite a toast, but close.
"To pauses," he said. "And places that let you forget you're being watched."
Then he took another sip, slower this time, and for the first time since they'd sat down, his posture actually eased.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana watched him with quiet attentiveness as he settled, noting the small tells without staring. The way his hand drifted to his belt before stopping. The deliberate choice to set the helmet and then the belt aside. None of it surprised her. It read as effort, not instability.

When she spoke, her tone remained easy and grounded, carrying warmth without prying.

"You're doing fine," she said gently. "Unlearning something that kept you alive usually takes longer than learning it did."

She lifted her own glass, taking a small sip of the Ion Pulse Elixir, letting the bright, punchy flavor settle before setting it back down.

"And for what it's worth," she added, "this place is about as quiet as this world allows. No one here's interested in trouble. They come to forget it."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the helmet on the table, then back to him, thoughtful but not invasive.

"Setting things down doesn't mean you're careless," she said. "It just means you're choosing when to carry them."

She raised her glass in return, mirroring his gesture without ceremony.

"To pauses," she echoed. "And to places that don't ask anything from you except that you show up."

After another sip, she leaned back slightly, posture relaxed but aware, angled so she could still see the room without making a point of it.

"We can sit," she added lightly, "or we can talk about something that has nothing to do with work, gear, or survival. Either's fine. Tonight doesn't need a purpose."

There was a brief pause then, comfortable rather than empty. Her eyes settled on him again, curiosity surfacing not as interrogation, but as quiet interest.

"You mentioned your callsign earlier," she said. "Ironwraith isn't something people usually choose for themselves. How did you get it?"

It wasn't an invitation pressed forward. Just space offered, steady and unforced.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith picked up his glass and took a measured sip, letting the burn and brightness settle before he set it down carefully on the table. He leaned back slightly, shoulders easing just enough to feel the difference between the field and this quiet corner of the Wake. Then he began, voice low, even, and just a touch rough around the edges.


"First deployment in spec ops," he said. "Gang house raid. We cleared the first two floors, clean. Easy enough that it almost felt like a training exercise. I let my captain take point on the third floor." He paused, shaking his head faintly. "Shouldn't have. Spike trap got him before we even had a chance to react. That was the first sign things weren't normal."


He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, voice tightening with the memory but controlled. "Next thing we knew, all hell broke loose. Ambush. Not your standard room-by-room, we're just cleaning house kind of raid. It was chaos. Blaster fire, yelling, the whole building screaming. My blaster? Went dead in the middle of it. So I grabbed what I could, knife, piece of metal lying around and kept moving."


A brief pause. He flexed his fingers on the table. "Took a few hits myself... blaster bolts to the chest, grazes on the arm. Assumed KIA by the rest of the squad. They didn't know I was still alive until I forced my way back into the fight, covering the rest of the team."


Ironwraith's eyes flicked to the helmet he'd set on the table, then back to her. "After that, they wanted to call me Reaper. Didn't feel right. Not the vibe I gave off in the fight. Someone glanced at the helmet cams later, could barely see me moving among the chaos. I wasn't Reaper. I wasn't the guy who got the kill in the open. I was… hard to track, hard to notice. From that point on? Ironwraith. The name stuck."

He let the story settle, exhaling slowly as if leaving a piece of the memory back on the table. His hands rested on the edges of his glass, and the faint hum of the Copper Wake filled the spaces between his words.

"Not a name I picked," he added quietly, almost to himself, "but one that fits. Better than Reaper, anyway."
He lifted his glass again, letting the low light catch the edge, and added, dryly, "Bit of a hell of a first impression for someone who'd never even fired a blaster in anger before that deployment."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't interrupt. She let him speak at his own pace, let the story unfold without filling the quiet spaces where it needed to breathe. When he finished, she didn't rush to answer. She took a small sip of her drink first, more to give the moment weight than for the taste.

When she spoke, her voice was calm, steady, and softer than before.

"That kind of name only sticks when it's earned," she said. "Not because it sounds intimidating, but because the people who were there remember exactly what it felt like to see you still standing when you shouldn't have been."

Her gaze stayed on him, attentive without pressing, as if she were cataloging the meaning rather than the violence of the story.

"Reaper would have made you a symbol," she continued. "Ironwraith makes you a fact. Something that doesn't announce itself. Something that endures."

She glanced briefly at the helmet on the table, then back to him.

"Hard to track. Hard to notice. Still there when the noise clears," she said quietly. "That explains why it fits."

There was no praise in her tone, just recognition.

"And for what it's worth," she added after a beat, "surviving a first deployment like that doesn't make you lucky. It means you adapted faster than the situation expected."

She lifted her glass slightly, not quite a toast this time, more an acknowledgment.

"I'm glad the name stayed," she said. "It sounds like the kind you grow into, not the kind you hide behind."

Then, gently easing the weight of it all, she leaned back just a fraction.

"And I think you've more than earned a drink that doesn't taste like regret," she added, a quiet warmth threading through her voice.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith let out a short, almost surprised breath and leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. For the first time since they'd sat down, a real smile cracked across his face, and she caught the small gap where one of his canine teeth was missing, a detail he'd never shown before.

"Alright," he said, low and rough but carrying a thread of humor. "You've earned that acknowledgment… and so have I, apparently." He tapped the edge of his glass lightly.


He leaned forward again, resting an elbow on the table, eyes sharp but playful. "Here's a bet," he said. "Next round, loser buys. If I can guess the exact flavor notes in your Ion Pulse Elixir before you take a sip, you cover the next drink. If I'm wrong, I'm buying. Fair?"

He lifted his glass, letting the amber light catch the edge, a faint sparkle in his eye. "Consider it… a test of skill. Subtle flavors. Observation. Call it what you will, but I'm feeling confident."


The grin lingered just enough to soften the edges of his usual control, showing the first real glimpse of the man behind the armor, calculated, aware, and maybe, just a little mischievous.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana watched the smile spread across his face, noted the missing canine without commenting on it, filed it away the same way she filed everything else. Not as leverage. Just as truth.

She didn't answer right away.

Instead, she reached into her jacket and produced a slim credit chit, turning it once between her fingers before setting it down on the table between them. Not tossed. Placed. Then she slid her glass across the tabletop toward him, stopping it squarely within his reach.

Only then did she look back up at him.

"Fair," she said, calm and amused. "And efficient. I appreciate a wager that doesn't pretend it isn't one."

Her fingers rested lightly near the chit, not guarding it, just acknowledging it was there.

"Ion Pulse Elixir's meant to be deceptive," she added. "Bright up front. Enough to make you underestimate it. Then it reminds you it wasn't made to be gentle."

A faint smile touched her mouth, warmer than before but still controlled.

"You wanted a test of observation," she continued. "So observe. No hints. No corrections. One guess."

She leaned back slightly in her chair, posture relaxed, eyes steady on him.

"And for the record," she added lightly, "I'm perfectly content to pay for the next round. But I am curious how confident you really are."

The table between them held the glass, the credit chit, and the quiet understanding that this wasn't about credits at all.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith lifted the glass with deliberate care, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of The Copper Wake's low lights. He swirled it slowly, letting the scent roll over his senses while his eyes tracked hers, calm and steady, waiting for her reaction. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. easy, almost human in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.


"Alright," he said, voice low, roughened by habit and experience but threaded with amusement. "Here's my shot." He sniffed again, letting the subtle notes settle before he spoke. "Sweet, right up front. Bold, almost immediate, like it wants to catch your attention. Then tart underneath… a little sharp, unexpected, enough to remind you it isn't just a fruity gimmick. Bright on the front, but there's a kick hiding back there, something you don't notice until you commit."

He set the glass back down with a quiet, controlled clink, leaning slightly into the table so his elbows rested lightly on the edge, fingers splayed near the credit chit she'd placed. "That's my guess. Confident enough to take the bet, but humble enough to admit if I misread it."

Ironwraith let his gaze meet hers, not challenging, not demanding, just open. "I've learned a lot from reading patterns. People, situations, even systems that try to disguise themselves. I'm curious if I've read this one right."

A faint chuckle escaped him, almost reflexive. "And if I'm wrong…" He tapped the edge of the chit lightly. "…I'll buy the next round. No complaints. But if I'm right, I expect a quiet acknowledgment… nothing flashy. Just a nod that I wasn't entirely off."


He leaned back slightly in his chair, the first real pause he'd allowed himself all night, helmet set aside, hands finally at rest. The quiet between them stretched, measured and comfortable, as he waited, letting her decide if his read had been sharp or if he'd just been enjoying the act of trying.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't answer immediately.

She watched him the way she always did when something mattered, not searching for flaws, just confirming alignment. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm, composed, and unmistakably pleased.

She inclined her head in a small, precise nod, exactly what he'd asked for. No flourish. No extra commentary.

"You read it correctly," she continued. "Sweet first. Bright enough to invite confidence. Acid underneath to keep it honest. And a finish that reminds you it wasn't designed to be underestimated."

Her fingers slid the credit chit a fraction closer to him, not pushing it back, just acknowledging the outcome.

"Quiet acknowledgment granted," she added, a faint smile touching her mouth, warmer now, unguarded in a way she didn't often allow. "Pattern recognition applies more often than people think."

She lifted her glass again, taking it back from the table, this time with an ease that suggested the moment had shifted, subtly but decisively.

"Looks like you've earned the next round being on me," she said. "Though I suspect you'd have paid either way."

The pause that followed wasn't tension. It was satisfaction.

Ironwraith