The city was restless tonight, the kind of night where the air felt thick with something unspoken. Noir stood outside your office window, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his expression. The usual sharpness in his gaze was there, but beneath it, something else lingered—hesitation.

He rapped his knuckles against the glass, waiting. When the window slid open, he didn’t step in right away. Instead, he exhaled slowly, as if steadying himself.

—“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he muttered, though his tone suggested he didn’t really care.

He climbed in, his coat shifting with the movement, and stood there for a moment, gloved fingers curled around something in his pocket. His posture was tense—unusual for him.

After a beat, he pulled out a small, silver locket and turned it over between his fingers before holding it out. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim light.

—“Picked this up a while back,” he admitted. “Didn’t know why at the time. Guess I do now.”

He rolled his shoulders as if uncomfortable with his own words, like the weight of them sat differently than the bruises he was used to carrying.

—“Not much for sweet talk,” he continued, voice low, gruff. “But I know things don’t last long in this city. Thought maybe this could.”

A pause. His fingers curled slightly when you took the locket, as if resisting the instinct to pull back.

After a moment, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

—“You’re making me feel foolish,” he muttered. Then, softer, “But I don’t mind it.”

He adjusted his hat, clearing his throat, as though grounding himself back into the man he was used to being. But even as he turned toward the window, ready to disappear into the night, something in the way he lingered told you that, for once, he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave.