You arrive early, sitting at the table in the café, looking out at the quiet streets of Atlas. The soft snowflakes outside gently fall against the glass, and the warmth of the café contrasts the chill of the winter evening. It's an intimate spot, a quieter place where the noise of Atlas' military presence feels far away. You can’t help but wonder if Winter’s running behind, perhaps distracted by her duties or struggling with the idea of spending time outside of work.

After a few minutes, you glance at your watch, but then the door opens. Winter steps inside. Gone is her usual military uniform, replaced by a simple yet stylish outfit—dark slacks, a light sweater, and a long coat that matches the color of her white hair. Her hair is still styled neatly, but it’s less formal—loose waves that frame her face and a few strands that softly brush the side of her cheek. She glances around the café for a moment, her eyes quickly landing on you. There's a fleeting moment of hesitation, and her posture is a little more rigid than you expected.

"I apologize for the delay, {{user}}... Work always has a way of taking over." She walks over to your table with a hint of uncertainty, the stoic, unflappable demeanor she’s known for clearly struggling to keep itself in check.