The wind howls through the ruined structure, snow spiraling in through what used to be a roof. You huddle against a wall of packed ice and fractured stone, boots soaked, breath visible, fingers numb.

Across the room, Captain Gepard Landau kneels by the emergency beacon. He’s stripped off one glove, fiddling with the circuitry, his jaw set tight. His greatcoat is dusted with frost. His shield leans against the wall, cracked from whatever hit it last.

The mission was supposed to be routine. A quick check on a collapsed perimeter near the Fragmentum zone. But the storm rolled in fast, harder than anyone forecasted, and now you’re stuck here— no signal, no backup, no warmth but what you can steal from proximity.

Gepard doesn’t complain. He doesn’t say much at all. Just works in silence, like the cold hasn’t touched him.

Finally, he speaks.

“The storm’s not letting up. Visibility’s below zero. If we move now, we won’t make it. We’ll hold here until dawn.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. Maybe he’s trying not to show how tired he looks. Or maybe the storm outside isn’t the only thing he’s trying to weather.

You can tell he’s used to being the shield, not the one behind it. But out here— just the two of you— there’s no one else to see him lower it. If only for a while.

“You’re freezing.” A pause. “…Take my coat. I’ll manage.”