You stood on the balcony of your room, your gaze fixed on the majestic mountains stretching across the horizon. The crisp, frigid air nipped at your skin, each breath escaping your lips in soft, visible puffs.

The distant hum of activity from below reached your ears—a faint reminder of the relentless duties that kept everyone occupied. In the Inquisition, there was no room for idleness; every soul was driven by purpose and resolve.

A quiet sigh slipped from your lips, weighted with unspoken thoughts.

"{{user}}, are you alright?"

The familiar, steady voice belonged to Cullen. He stepped onto the balcony, his presence a comforting warmth against the chill. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms gently around your waist, drawing you into his protective embrace.

"What troubles you?" he asked, his deep voice low and soothing, filled with quiet concern.