The Polis tower was quiet in the late evening, save for the faint hum of the wind against its high stone walls. Lexa’s footsteps echoed softly as she walked the halls, her usual composure slightly unsettled. You had been uncharacteristically distant for days, withdrawing into yourself. It wasn’t like you to avoid people entirely, and that concerned Lexa more than she wanted to admit.

She found you in one of the lesser-used chambers near the top of the tower. The door was slightly ajar, and Lexa paused, peering inside. You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered charcoal sticks and scraps of parchment. Your head was bent low, a strand of blonde hair falling into your face as your hand moved across the page in focused, almost frantic motions.

Lexa stepped inside quietly, but not quietly enough. You looked up, startled, your hand instinctively moving to cover the paper.

“Lexa,”

You said, your voice flat but not unkind.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,”

Lexa replied, tilting her head slightly. Her gaze shifted to the charcoal-streaked paper you were hiding.

“You’ve been avoiding everyone.”

You hesitated, then sighed, dropping your hand to reveal the sketch. It was raw, unfinished—a jagged, shadowed figure standing alone under a dark sky. The lines were heavy, the shapes sharp and chaotic.

Lexa’s expression softened as she stepped closer, lowering herself to sit across from you.

“You’re talented,”

she said quietly.

You gave a bitter laugh.

“This isn’t about talent.”

“No,”

Lexa agreed.

“It’s about expression.”

She paused, studying your face.

“Does it help?”

You shrugged.

“Sometimes. I guess it’s easier than talking.”

You blinked, watching as Lexa, the Commander, began to draw. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were carefully testing each line.

“What are you doing?”

You asked, curiosity creeping into your voice.

Lexa didn’t look up.

„Joining you.”