Tartaglia had been your best friend for years. You knew about the Fatui, about his rank, about the kind of things that came with being a Harbinger. You had accepted all of it, or at least tried to.

But today, something was wrong.

He was distant in a way that felt unnatural for him. Your messages went unanswered. When you spoke to him, he brushed you off with vague replies or didn’t acknowledge you at all. You checked in more than once, concern gnawing at you, but each attempt was met with silence.

An hour passed.

The unease only grew.

Eventually, you found yourself climbing the stairs that led to the rooftop, your chest tight with a feeling you couldn’t quite name. The door creaked as you pushed it open, wind rushing past you.

He was there.

Tartaglia stood at the edge of the roof, back turned to you, the city stretched out far below. His posture was rigid, hands clenched at his sides, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force alone.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

You realized then that this wasn’t something you could ignore.

Not this time.