Bunny tilted her head back to meet her rescuer’s gaze.
He was one of the white-haired, red-eyed twins, though she still couldn’t tell which one she was looking at.
"Thank you," she offered softly.
The young man gave her a warm smile. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a medical patch and carefully applied it over the swelling bump on her forehead. Because he spent so much time handling heavy ordnance, the pads of his fingers were rough with calluses. They scraped lightly against her skin, leaving a faint, stinging blush behind.
Bunny touched the cool bandage. Her impression of this thoughtful Sentinel shot up considerably. "What’s your name?"
He opened his mouth, then paused as if remembering something. Raising his hands, he began making fluid gestures in sign language, gently indicating that he was non-verbal.
"He’s Orion, my older brother. And I am, Miss Guide, Illai."
Illai sauntered over with a towel draped loosely around his neck, his crimson eyes scanning her without a shred of subtlety. His sculpted torso was still damp with sweat from his morning workout, and a silver cross dangled between his sharp collarbones, resting against his chest.
The twins flanked her on either side, their towering frames casting long shadows over her small posture.
For some reason, Bunny felt instantly cornered.
She looked at Orion, then turned her head toward Illai. They looked utterly identical—down to the tiny beauty marks tucked beneath the outer corners of their eyes. There was literally zero physical distinction.
Fine, she decided internally. The quiet one is the big brother. The mouthy one is the little brother. That’s how I’ll keep track.
Illai noticed the Guide staring back and forth between them with intense, narrow-eyed focus, trying desperately to spot a difference. He found the expression unbearably cute.
Leaning down, his warm breath brushed against the shell of her ear. "It’s fine, Miss Bunny. You’ll have plenty of time to figure us out." He flashed her a slow, knowing smirk. "My brother and I are actually quite different in a lot of ways."
With that loaded statement, he turned on his heel and sauntered off toward the showers.
Bunny’s brows knit together. Why did that sound so wildly inappropriate?
Orion shot his younger brother a flat glance. Turning back to Bunny, he crouched down and rolled her oversized trouser cuffs up several more times, securing them neat and tight with a couple of elastic bands so she wouldn’t trip again.
His quiet attentiveness caught her off guard. He couldn’t speak, but his demeanor was surprisingly gentle.
"Are you hungry? Come have some breakfast," Xander called out, greeting her as naturally as if they were old housemates.
The moment Bunny stepped fully into the living room, Cyrus silently pressed out his cigarette in an ashtray.
The rich, savory aroma floating from the kitchen immediately hijacked Bunny’s attention. "It smells amazing!"
She practically bounced over to the dining counter.
Xander set down a pristine ceramic plate in front of her. Neatly arranged across it were thick slices of seared sausage, crispy bacon, and a sunny-side-up egg with a perfect golden center.
Back in Central Terra, Bunny had survived almost entirely on compressed nutrient blocks. Every single block tasted like salty chalk, and she had grown to utterly detest mealtimes.
She picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of sausage. It wasn’t greasy or heavy—it was perfectly seasoned. The yolk burst rich and creamy under her fork, and the buttery vanilla cake waiting on the side was warm, sweet, and fragrant.
Xander handed her a glass of chilled, freshly blended fruit juice, then leaned casually against the edge of the counter, quietly watching her eat.
It was a rare sight for the squad. Although Xander was an exceptional cook, he almost never bothered preparing meals for the team. This entire spread had been made specifically for her.
Fucking show-off, Cyrus thought from the sofa.
"How is it?" Xander asked softly.
Bunny nodded vigorously, her mood instantly soaring. She was, deep down, a total foodie, and good food was the fastest way to win her over.
Because all the furniture in the outpost had been custom-built for the Sentinels’ massive heights, her feet dangled helplessly several inches above the floor. She took a big sip of juice, then immediately reached for a slice of cake, her cheeks puffing out as she chewed.
Her table manners weren’t dainty, and she didn’t bother pretending otherwise. She ate with unreserved, joyful enthusiasm.
Yet far from looking unrefined, the sheer delight on her face was infectious. Watching her eat was like watching a small kitten happily devouring a bowl of treats—purely wholesome and strangely calming to be around.
Her slender, pale legs swung rhythmically beneath her chair as she ate, her porcelain skin glowing with a soft, rosy vitality under the morning light.