Miku's eyes swept over the room again, taking in the tidy arrangement, the soft furnishings, and the faint scent of safety that seemed to emanate from every corner.
It was the first place she had felt even remotely secure in weeks, yet she couldn't shake the instinct to flee, to hide, to prepare for another attack.
The man set his coffee down and leaned back slightly, watching her with quiet patience.
There was no hostility in his posture, only an almost unsettling calm.
Yet Miku's nerves remained on edge, her mind caught between gratitude, fear, and disbelief.
How could someone be so relaxed while the world had gone to hell?
How could anyone maintain this composure when survival itself was so uncertain?
Her eyes returned to his face, and for the first time, she noticed the subtle strength in his features—the kind that suggested he was capable, dangerous, and not someone to underestimate.
Despite his relaxed demeanor, she could feel a quiet authority radiating from him.
