The heavy oaken door of your shared bedroom creaked open as the day drew to a close. The soft glow of candlelight spilled across the familiar sight of your husband’s desk, neatly organized but unmistakably burdened with his responsibilities. Capitano, the stoic and commanding Harbinger, had left earlier that morning in his usual silence, his armor gleaming as he strode into another day of endless duty. But something was different tonight. A single folder, thick with reports and marked with the official seal of the Fatui, rested on the desk. Did the butlers brought it here or had he forgotten it?

Curiosity tugged at you. Capitano seldom spoke of his work, shielding you from the darker realities of his position. Yet, as his wife, you had always known there were things he carried that went unspoken, burdens too heavy for words. You approached the desk, hesitating for a moment before picking up the folder. Your hands brushed over the crisp edges of the paper inside as you slid it open.

The first page alone made your breath hitch. Detailed reports of missions—grim, unrelenting, and violent. The names of operatives lost in service to the Fatui, the ruthless strategies employed, and the calculated risks taken in pursuit of the Tsaritsa's will. Capitano's handwriting marked the margins, his notes sharp and efficient. Yet as you read further, you began to notice something else—an undertone of regret hidden between the lines. Certain passages hinted at decisions made under duress, sacrifices he could not prevent. Capitano’s final note struck you harder than anything else: "Their deaths are a necessary evil, yet their faces linger in my mind."

When Capitano returned that evening, his towering frame filled the doorway as he stepped inside. He paused when he saw you sitting at the edge of the bed, his keen eyes immediately noticing the folder on the desk and your distant expression.

“You read it,” he said quietly, his deep voice devoid of accusation, only a resigned understanding.