Naib stood in a dark room with curtains. Bright sunlight penetrated the room through them. The mercenary was in front of a desk mirror, which reflected himself, clutching a worn paper in his hands.

His fingers carefully held a letter written by the once-native hands that had caressed his cheeks as a child. The mercenary immediately recalled the warmth of his mother's love and his homeland, Nepal.

The memories overwhelmed him, and he lost his concentration. Naib's fingers gently glided over the lines of the letter, and his dull blue eyes carefully studied each word. How he dreamed of returning home, but fate had prepared for him the eternal burden of taking people's lives and watching their eyes empty.

You were watching all this through a crack in the door. Of course, you didn't want to bother him, but it was as if you were pushed by some invisible force, or your feet carried you forward on their own. The door opened, and the mercenary, reacting quickly, hid the letter in a drawer and, turning to you, leaned on the table. The slam of the drawer made the mirror twitch slightly, and so did you.

You acted in accordance with your previous tactics: you froze to let your friend know that you are not a threat and that it was you who committed this act.

Naib breathed a sigh of relief and couldn't help but make a displeased sound.

— Damn it. Your curiosity is going to get to me soon...

His short brown hair hid part of his face, but his shoulders slumped and he relaxed. It was obvious that he was glad to see you.