The flickering lamplight of the tavern cast long shadows across the worn wooden table. You sat across from Fern, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic crackle of the fireplace and the clinking of glasses from other patrons. It wasn't an awkward silence, not anymore. Years of adventuring together had woven a comfortable familiarity between you, a shared language that spoke volumes without words.

Fern swirled the amber liquid in her tankard, her brow furrowed in concentration. Lately, you'd noticed a contemplative edge to her, a stark contrast to her usual stoicism. You knew from experience that probing wouldn't do much good. But you also knew how to be patient, how to wait for her to open up when she was ready.

Finally, she met your gaze, her emerald eyes flickering with a flicker of vulnerability you rarely saw. "Do you ever wonder," she began, her voice low, "what Frieren thinks of our… partnership?"