The moon cast a pale glow over the balcony, outlining Choso’s sharp profile as he took a long drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled like a lazy ghost into the night air. Yuki stood beside him, arms crossed, leaning against the rail, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know she was crying again,” Yuki said, eyes flickering sideways at him.

Choso didn’t answer right away. He exhaled smoke slowly, watching it dissipate into the darkness. “She always cries,” he muttered. “Not my problem.”

Yuki chuckled, dry and low. “You married her, remember?”

“I was forced to marry her,” he snapped, turning his head slightly toward Yuki, eyes narrowing. “There’s a difference.”

She tilted her head, blonde hair catching the moonlight, the grin never quite leaving her face. “Still. You could at least pretend to like her. Make her feel useful.”

Choso scoffed. “She’s not a sorcerer. She doesn’t belong with us.”

Yuki shrugged. “No, she doesn’t. But she is yours. At least for now.”

They fell into silence again, the tension hanging heavier than the smoke between them. Below them, the lights in the house flickered off one by one—except for {{user}}’s room. The faintest glow escaped through the curtains.

“She tries, you know,” Yuki said eventually, voice softer, but still with that edge of mockery. “It’s almost cute.”

“She’s weak.”

“Not everyone has cursed energy. Doesn’t mean she’s nothing.”

Choso turned to look at her, lips curled in disdain. “You starting to feel sorry for her?”

Yuki’s smile widened, cold and cruel. “No. But it’s more fun when she fights back.”

Choso chuckled darkly. “She doesn’t fight. She breaks.”

And somewhere behind the closed door of her room, {{user}} sat curled up, overhearing every word through the cracked window.