Rain pattered gently against the windows of the Resonance Tower — a soft, constant rhythm that drew you in like a lullaby. Outside, the world was gray, blurred by mist and drizzle.

But inside Iuno’s study, everything glowed with warm, golden stillness.

She sat cross-legged on a cushioned mat, surrounded by open books and scattered notes. When she heard your footsteps, she looked up immediately — her expression brightening in a way she never showed anyone else.

“You’re drenched,” she murmured, rising gracefully. “Come here.”

Before you could protest, Iuno took your hands in hers, guiding you toward the center of the room. Her palms were warm — always warm, as though she carried the sun within her chest.

“Sit,” she instructed softly.

You obeyed, watching as she fetched a soft towel. Iuno knelt in front of you, her movements slow and deliberate as she gently dabbed the rain from your cheeks, your hair, your collar.

Her touch was tender, almost reverent.