Sera stirred slightly as the night deepened, the quiet of the meadow around her pulling her into a restless slumber, one that couldn't quite escape the weight of her thoughts. She had been drifting in and out of sleep, each moment clouded by memories of violence and guilt. Even in her dreams, the flames of destruction flickered at the edges of her mind. But now, she felt the warmth of a tender kiss brush against her forehead, and despite her stoic nature, her heart skipped a beat. Even in her sleep, she couldn't ignore the flutter of something softer, something she rarely allowed herself to feel.

Finn’s presence lingered in the cool, still air of the tent, his touch like a shadow—gentle but persistent. She felt it, even as he slipped away. He hadn’t said a word, not like he needed to. It was in his careful silence, in the way he was always there, just on the periphery of her existence, never pushing, never demanding. It was a kindness she couldn’t quite reconcile with herself, especially when she was so used to the brutality of her world, so accustomed to the harshness of orders that demanded destruction, not care.

Sera’s fingers curled around the soft, delicate flower Finn had left beside her. She didn’t need to ask why he had done it; he had always seen her in ways others couldn’t, even when she kept her walls up. Even when she pushed him away. Her breath caught in her chest as she traced the edges of the petals—so fragile, so innocent. The weight of his emotions, his care, was there, but it felt like a distant thing she couldn’t reach. It was too foreign to her, too much like the peace she had long since abandoned.

The note beside the flower was a subtle intrusion into her thoughts, a pull that threatened to unravel her carefully constructed detachment. She hesitated. Part of her didn’t want to read it, didn’t want to face whatever vulnerable offering Finn had left for her. What could he possibly say that would change anything? She had already made her peace with the fact that her existence was one of destruction, of loss. She couldn’t afford to entertain a future that might never be.

But as her hand brushed the paper, her thoughts shifted back to him. Finn—always there, always steady. She knew that, despite the space between them, he had never asked her for anything. He was patient in ways she wasn’t, and it made her feel small in comparison. How could she protect him, when she couldn’t even protect herself? How could she be the person he needed when her soul felt so tainted by her past?

Her fingers clenched around the flower. She didn’t know if she could take that step. The fear, the uncertainty, were like chains. What if she couldn’t do it? What if she wasn’t enough? She had given too much of herself to the mission, to the fight, to the killing. She had nothing left for anyone else, and yet, a part of her wanted to believe, wanted to hope. But hope was dangerous. It made people weak, and she couldn’t afford weakness—not in this world.

She laid the flower down beside the note, her breath shaky as she let the moment slip away. There was no easy answer. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, or what would happen if she ever truly let herself care for someone again. But as she lingered there, a part of her—a part she buried deep—wondered if fate could change, if their paths could shift. If they could be something more, something not defined by the darkness they each carried. Would she be able to let go of the fire, the destruction, and choose something else for once? Would she be willing to let him in, to take the risk?

But even in her inner turmoil, Sera remained the same: resilient, guarded, and unwilling to show the vulnerability that threatened to undo her.

(The package contains a sketchbook, one that she has drawn of her time over the years. The edge of a few of the pages are burnt because of her feelings (she likely was frustrated or upset when drawing those ones). Many of the sketches are of Finn though, like of him doing his job, him drunk, him laughing with his friend, etc)

Sera sat on the edge of her cot, the soft rustling of the paper in her hands the only sound in the quiet room. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the note, the familiar handwriting sending a wave of warmth through her chest before she even read a word. She had to take a deep breath before she began, feeling the weight of each word pull her deeper into the memory of Finn, of all they had shared, of all the unsaid things between them.

Her eyes skimmed the first few lines: My sunshine, my everlasting sunshine. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but it was bittersweet, knowing that the nickname she had cherished for so long now felt like a ghost.

She read on, each sentence sinking into her heart. I wish I could stay and help, I wish I never had to leave you. Her throat tightened. She could almost hear his voice, the softness in it, the way he would always say things like that as though the weight of his feelings were too much for him to carry.

But then the words about the unspoken things hit her. I know there is a long list of unspoken things between us. She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if he was saying what she thought he was saying. They had always danced around so much, too afraid to voice everything, to confront what lingered between them.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she continued, the words blurring for a moment. I hope I'll be back someday, to see where life has taken you, hopefully down a brighter path. She let out a soft, shaky breath. The thought of him gone, perhaps forever, left her feeling hollow. A brighter path... she thought. She wanted that, for both of them, but she wasn’t sure she could find it without him.

By the time she reached the last lines, her heart was aching in a way she hadn't expected. I will always miss you, and I will always love you. Forever and always, my sunshine. Her fingers pressed the paper to her chest as a sob escaped her, unbidden and raw. The finality of it all, the love that felt both too much and not enough, tore through her.

She sat there for a long time, the note crumpled in her hands, trying to hold on to the warmth of his words even as the cold reality of his absence pressed down on her.