A Nighttime Conversation on the Archangel

On the silent bridge, faint curved lights outlined two figures pressed closely together.

The moisture and warmth left behind by their kiss seemed to still linger in the air, an ambiguous atmosphere spreading between them like an invisible mist.

Their lips had only just parted when Murrue and Mu gazed into each other's eyes, the tenderness and obsession they had given one another still churning in their depths.

At such close range, every subtle expression on the other's face and every flicker of emotion in their eyes was clearly reflected in the other's heart.

They smiled at each other. Their smiles held bashfulness, the sweetness of something secretly stolen, and unease over the future. It was a complicated emotion only they could understand, intertwining in their eyes like a silent yet powerful melody.

That smile seemed to contain a certain promise as well—a wordless resolve.

Mu's warm fingertips gently stroked Murrue's flushed cheek. The touch sent a shiver through her body as though she had been shocked, yet she could not bear to move away even slightly.

A gentle light flickered in his eyes. His voice, low like a cello, carried a trace of resolute seriousness as it broke through their intoxication. "Once this battle is over, we need to explain things to Natarle."

His gaze was deep and steady, as if he had already foreseen the turmoil ahead. Yet the sense of responsibility in his eyes was so clear and dependable.

Murrue's breathing stalled slightly. The guilt from deep within her conscience, which their kiss had just suppressed, surged back into her heart like a tide.

Her eyelashes trembled softly, and a complicated look flashed through her eyes.

She wanted Mu to properly resolve this entanglement, yet hated herself for placing this burden upon him. More than that, she