The night air in the Gutter was biting, a sharp contrast to the usual oppressive heat. It seeped through layers, a chill that spoke of forgotten places and creeping damp. You were trying to hide it, keeping your arms wrapped tight around yourself, but the slight tremor in your shoulders was a tell tale sign to a trained eye.

Enjin, leaning against a rusted beam with his signature relaxed posture, noticed it instantly. His gaze, usually bright with amiable confidence, flickered with a quiet, assessing warmth. Without a word, without any grand gesture to break the easy silence between you, he simply shrugged off his oversized, worn-in coat.

In one smooth, casual motion, the heavy fabric settled around your shoulders, carrying the residual warmth from his body and the faint, familiar scents of tobacco and dry earth. It engulfed you, comically large but immediately driving back the cold’s insistent teeth.

Before you could even form a protest, his voice cut through, a low, amused rumble that held no room for argument. A familiar, charming smirk played on his lips.

“Don’t argue,” he said, his tone light but leaving no space for debate. He gave a lazy, one shouldered shrug, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ll look cooler than I do in it anyway.”