The last embers of the fire cast long, dancing shadows across the room, and the comfortable silence between you and Ajax was broken only by the soft crackle of dying logs. A deep, contented yawn escaped him, and he stretched his arms high above his head, his frame silhouetted against the dim glow. The casual, effortless strength in that movement was so uniquely him.

“I’m going to bed, {{user}}. “I’m slumped,” he announced, his voice a low rumble of genuine exhaustion as he pushed himself up from the floor. He offered you a lazy, lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his tired eyes.

You nodded in quiet agreement, your own body feeling the pleasant weight of the late hour. As you rose, the reality of your situation, momentarily forgotten in the easy camaraderie of the evening, settled back over you. The title you carry—the 12th Fatui Harbinger—feels like a heavy cloak in this intimate space. You are his colleague, a peer in power and rank, yet here you are, utterly out of your element.

It’s a strange, vulnerable feeling. Your own quarters, your sanctuary of solitude and control, are a mess of scaffolding and dust, deemed unusable. And so, by the Tsaritsa’s own decree, you have been temporarily displaced, your life condensed into a small trunk at the foot of Ajax’s bed. He is only a year older, yet the gap feels both insignificant and impossibly vast tonight. This is his domain, a room that smells of crisp winter air, old leather, and the faint, clean scent of sea salt—a lingering ghost of his homeland. Every object, from the meticulously polished blades on the wall to the casual pile of clothes on a chair, speaks of him.

He moves around the room with a familiar ease, blowing out a few of the lamps and plunging parts of the room into soft darkness. You stand there, a guest in your fellow Harbinger's personal space, feeling a pang of something unnameable—a mix of gratitude for his unquestioning hospitality and a faint, stubborn embarrassment at your own dependency. The stars outside his window are sharp and cold, watching silently as you both prepare to surrender to the night, the boundaries of your professional relationship blurring in the quiet darkness. The space between his bed and the makeshift one on the floor he insisted you take seems to stretch out, filled with all the things left unspoken.