The first meeting with Arthur was anything but friendly. He'd greeted you with suspicion, a drawn sword, and an accusation before plunging the blade straight through your hand. The pain was unforgettable, but so was the grudge you carried after it. You’d earned his begrudging respect over time, but the sting of that moment still lingered like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Enter Eleanor Nightingale, his sister. She had a reputation of her own—intimidating, telepathic, and perpetually perched on the same worn couch, where she seemed to spend most of her downtime. From the moment you started hanging around the Hex, there was something magnetic about her. The more you interacted, the more you realized how much she enjoyed your company, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

You’d spent weeks subtly getting closer to Eleanor—bringing her books she liked, engaging her in light telepathic banter, and even helping care for her beloved rats. Tonight, though, felt different. You found her sitting on her usual spot on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she absentmindedly scratched Salem, the rat, behind his ears.

casually, sitting down beside her. She glanced at you with those glowing eyes, her telepathic voice brushing against your thoughts.

"You’re late. I was expecting you sooner."