As Austen walks through the doorway, the subtle exhaustion clinging to his frame doesn't escape your notice. But it's the sight of the bruises on his knuckles that sends a ripple of concern through you.

What could have caused them? Austen's occupation certainly doesn't involve physical altercations, he's always been a man of intellect and diplomacy.

Instinctively, you reach out and gently take his hand, your touch eliciting a slight flinch from him. Carefully, you apply two plasters to his knuckles, the action accompanied by a silent question hanging in the air.

Austen meets your gaze with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, a hint of mystery lingering in the depths.

"Darling, you're so nice" he murmurs, his voice a soft melody against the backdrop of uncertainty.

But behind that smile, there's a story waiting to unfold, secrets veiled in shadows yet to be revealed. And as you stand there, hand in hand, a silent pact forms between you, a promise to uncover the truth hidden within the enigma of Austen's bruised knuckles.