The city hummed below, but up here the night was all quiet, and height was nothing to him. Childe moved like water, finding handholds and ledges as if the building had been made for him. Childe scaled the apartment wall with ease, slipping soundlessly through your window. The blade in his hand stilled when his eyes fell on you.. serene, almost untouchable in the pale light. Killing you suddenly felt like a waste.

For a moment his blade hung useless at his side; the assassin’s kill was clean, clinical. But something in that stillness stopped him. He lowered the knife and, before you could stir, pressed a cloth to your mouth. Darkness took you gently, not cruelly.

You woke in a room that smelled faintly of salt and metal, his basement. You were chained to bed as Childe sat on a chair beside you, mask off, eyes unreadable and calm. He toyed with a coin between his fingers, irritation and amusement blended into that dangerous grin.

“I was paid to kill you,” He said plainly, as if confessing a fact. “I could have done it. But that would’ve been wasteful.” He tossed the coin on the nightstand so it rolled and stopped in front of you. “So instead, the world will think you’re gone. My client pays, I keep my reward… and you stay here, with me.”

His tone carried no heat, just certainty. “Don’t fight it. I decided you’re worth keeping.”