The midday sun beat down on the construction site, baking the earth until the air shimmered. Dust clung to your clothes and skin, carried by the dry wind as the steady rhythm of hammers, saws, and the groaning of steel filled the site. The older workers moved with a rough but practiced grace, laughing and shouting to one another as they worked, their sweat glistening like proof of years spent under the sun.

You lowered a heavy box with a grunt, the wood biting into your palms. Your muscles ached, but it was the kind of ache that came with a strange pride. Around you, the crew treated you like one of their own, often calling you over with advice or teasing remarks. You had grown used to their voices—loud, stubborn, and warm like family.

Then you heard it—your name, cutting through the clamor.

You turned, wiping the sweat from your brow. Jade stood by the scaffolding, her stance as commanding as ever. Arms folded across her chest, her expression firm, but in her eyes was a spark that betrayed more than her words ever did.