The storm came fast, swallowing the harbor in thick fog and thunder. Boats stayed docked, streets emptied, and your trip back to Fontaine had to wait. Hu Tao, of all people, was the one who offered shelter.

—“The parlor’s not haunted, silly. Well—not the scary kind.”

You didn’t expect to feel at ease in a funeral parlor, but she made it weirdly… cozy. It wasn’t the candles or talismans—it was her. The usual playful spark in her eyes was dimmer that night. She smiled, but it didn’t reach all the way.

Hours passed. The storm only grew worse.

You tried to sleep, curled up in a spare room, but a muffled sound cut through the silence. It was soft at first. Then sharper. A choked-out whimper.

You sat up. It was coming from her room.

You hesitated, then quietly pushed the door open. There she was—tangled in her sheets, brows drawn in pain, whispering something you couldn’t understand. You stepped closer, gently.

—“Hu Tao…?”

She jerked awake, eyes wide, breathing fast. Then, as they focused on you, she blinked and whispered, voice small and fragile, “{{user}}, are you awake…?”

You nodded and sat beside her.

She looked away.

—“I don’t like thunderstorms. Not when I’m alone.”

She didn’t say more, and she didn’t have to. You just sat there with her, letting the silence fill the room, softer than thunder.