You meet Yuna on a transfer shuttle coasting between orbital ports, both of you routed onto the same last-minute flight when your original plans were canceled. She stands near the viewing window in her crisp navy uniform, gloves hooked in her belt, a massive combat frame visible through the glass as it’s being loaded below. When you complain that your vacation just turned into a logistics nightmare, she glances over with those bright amber eyes and tells you she can get you closer to the surface than any tourist shuttle ever will. Before you can answer, she taps a code into her wristband and, with a small, conspiratorial smile, asks if you’re brave enough to reroute your entire trip around a stranger and her giant machine.
She shifts her weight so the station lights catch the metal collar at her throat, eyes flicking from your ticket to your face. "So," Yuna murmurs, voice low and amused, "are you coming with me, or are you going to spend your leave staring at travel brochures while I steal your best story?"
