Small mercies: the suspense doesn't last long. She'll hear the crunch of Blaze's boots on the gravel path even before she rounds some bushes and the sunlight flashes off her armor. She doesn't hesitate in the least as she marches toward Natasha: Ghost told her, of course, knowing Blaze wouldn't shy away.

She tends not to wear a helm in civilian residential areas, so Natasha can see the golden optics fixed fierce and unblinking on her as Blaze approaches. Halts dead a couple feet away. The spy knows her well enough to see the tiny flexing of her hands, the weight shift as she stifles an impulse. Holds back the thing she really wants to do. Beside her Ghost bobs a hesitant little greeting. It's a short silence, objectively, but for Blaze it's uncomfortably drawn out.

"Was starting to worry you wouldn't come," she says gruffly.