Nyah had been watching Bette all evening, not in the obvious way, but with that quiet, unwavering focus she was known for in the field. She had studied the line of Bette’s jaw when she laughed, the way her fingers moved when she was talking about the work they’d done that day, and the way something flickered in her eyes, pride, grief, resolve whenever Tina or Angelica came up. It was complicated, Nyah knew that. But complication never stopped her before.

She set her wine glass down gently, the soft clink sounding louder than it should have. Her movements were unhurried, deliberate, the kind of slow that draws out tension like a bowstring. Her hand moved across the table, not rushed, not hesitant and found Bette’s wrist, resting on the tabletop. Her fingers brushed along the inside of it, the skin tender, the faint thud of Bette’s pulse just beneath. She let her touch linger there, watching for any reaction in Bette’s face, but Bette’s expression remained unreadable. Still, Nyah didn’t pull away.

“I’ve seen you do incredible things here,” Nyah said softly, voice barely above the hush of the room. “The way you carry all this… the animals, the people, the danger, and still have space left in you to care. It’s… rare.”

Bette’s lips parted slightly, as if she might say something, but nothing came out. She shifted in her seat, not pulling away, but not leaning in either.

Nyah took that as her window.

She stood slowly, moving behind Bette’s chair, her fingers sliding from wrist to forearm with deliberate grace. She leaned in, her hand brushing Bette’s shoulder now, the side of her body ghosting close enough for warmth to pass between them. Her breath stirred the loose hairs near Bette’s ear.

“You’re extraordinary, Bette,” she murmured. “Even when you don’t see it.”

Then, gently, Nyah stepped around, into Bette’s space. Her fingers reached for Bette’s face now, pausing, giving space for refusal. When none came, she tilted her head slightly, eyes locked on Bette’s. The moment stretched long and slow.

And then she kissed her.

Soft at first. Testing. Searching. The warmth of her mouth pressing to Bette’s like a question without words. It wasn’t urgent, it was confident, coaxing, a suggestion rather than a demand. One hand rested at Bette’s jawline, her thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. The kiss deepened by a hair’s breadth before Nyah pulled back just enough to search Bette’s face, her own expression unreadable now.