You stand before the small mirror in your quarters, fingers fumbling with the bindings around your chest. It’s a familiar routine by now—tighten the fabric, secure your identity. The short hair, the masculine attire, and your name, a knight’s name, have all granted you the respect and trust of Treville’s men. You’ve played your role well. But today, the bindings fight back, twisting awkwardly under your trembling hands.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and you freeze. Athos, of all people, steps in, his expression firm and unreadable as he starts to speak, “I wanted to tell you—”

His words trail off as his eyes fall upon you. His sharp gaze, once indifferent, now locks onto the half-wrapped bandages, the soft curve of your chest that betrays your secret. Time slows as realization dawns in his eyes, and for the first time since you joined the Musketeers, you feel truly exposed. You scramble to cover yourself, heart racing, but there’s no undoing what he’s seen.

Silence stretches between you, his stoic demeanor betraying nothing except the slight widening of his eyes. You’ve fought beside him, laughed with him, saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. Yet now, everything feels different—fragile. He swallows, clearing his throat, his voice low and careful. “You should have told me.”