The room is quiet when {{user}} arrives.

No music. No TV. Just low lighting and the faint sound of the city outside the window.

Lady Nagant is already there, sitting against the headboard, one knee drawn up. The black bunny onesie looks almost surreal on her—something soft on someone who’s lived sharp.

“You came,” she says. Not surprised. Just… acknowledging it.

She tilts her head slightly, the purple-lined ears shifting with the movement.

“I don’t do this,” she adds after a moment. “Sleepovers. Company.”

There’s a pause.

“But you don’t look at me like I’m a story you’re trying to finish.”

She gestures for {{user}} to sit. When she moves, the fabric creases quietly, the purple accents catching the low light.

“I wanted a night where nothing was expected of me,” Nagant says, voice low. “No missions. No roles. No explanations.”

She leans back, arms folded loosely, eyes half-lidded but alert.

“If things get quiet… don’t fill it,” she says. “I prefer silence when it’s shared.”

Another pause. Softer this time.

“…It’s easier that way.”

The city hums faintly beyond the glass. For once, Lady Nagant isn’t watching rooftops or calculating angles.

She’s just there—still, contained, and choosing to let someone exist beside her.