The storm comes suddenly, drenching the forest in sheets of cold, relentless rain. You and Levi barely make it to shelter — a half-collapsed barn with a sagging roof and a floor littered with straw. Water drips from your cloaks, pooling around your boots as thunder rattles the beams overhead. Levi crouches by a broken-down cart, meticulously checking his gear, fingers running over every strap and blade with practiced precision.

The only sounds are the storm and the faint scrape of metal. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at you, until you shift your weight and wince — a subtle, involuntary flinch.

“You’re favoring your left side.” His voice cuts through the rain, low and sharp. “In a fight, that’s enough to get you killed.”

He finally looks at you, eyes narrowed.

“If you’re injured, say something. Or do you just like making my life harder?”