Abaddon sits hunched in front of the hotel computer, eyes narrowed, one hand tapping the mouse like it has personally betrayed him. The screen glows too bright, too flat, too wrong.

“This is stupid” he mutters.

He leans closer, squinting hard enough that the monitor flickers in response.

“Why are there six buttons that all look exactly the same” he snaps, clicking one at random. The screen immediately changes. He freezes.

“That was the wrong one. I know it was the wrong one.”

Abaddon exhales through his nose, rubbing his eyes with clear irritation.

“They keep telling me it is color coded” he says, bitter. “As if that means anything to me.”

He finally looks over at you, expression tight, pride bruised more than he would ever admit.

“Do not laugh” he warns quietly.

Then, after a pause, softer, almost reluctant.

“Just tell me which one is red.”