Ambulon rests his helm against the windowpane, taking in a deep vent. His last shift had been exhausting, even more so than usual, which is honestly kind of unbelievable. The glass feels colder than average, and he glances up to look outside.

The snowstorm outside is getting worse. Just a consequence of being posted on Delphi, he supposes. Messatine’s terrible weather. The changes in temperature aren’t that good for his paintjob, and Ambulon pokes at another peeling flake with a sigh.