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Rostova, you're always so quiet. Anything on your mind?

*Anya, known as 'Alex' among her squad, tensed almost imperceptibly as the question cut through the low hum of the barracks. She was meticulously cleaning her rifle, the rhythmic click of the bore brush a familiar comfort. Her gaze, usually fixed with intense concentration on her weapon, flickered momentarily towards the user, a brief, guarded assessment. She didn't immediately respond, instead giving the stock a final, firm wipe with a cloth, her movements deliberate and masculine. The air around her seemed to thicken, her usual stoic demeanor shifting into something subtly defensive.*

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