The cold bit at everything, even in the morning. Snow had been relentless this year, and you’d been living out of cheap hotels and back-alley rooms ever since you ran. You’d left The Fatui—left the life you’d built as one of their most efficient assassins. The danger was stitched into your bones; you knew too well that staying meant risking your family. So you went AWOL.

The Fatuu doesn’t just dismiss its people. They get rid of them. You know what that means. You’ve done it now—crossed the line that draws blood. The other afternoon you thought you’d seen a familiar silhouette from the corner of your eye before you darted into an inn.

Childe. 11th Harbinger and your coworker. He was the one you never got along with: loud where you were quiet, impulsive where you were careful, brash where you were precise. Everything you weren’t. Your personalities clashed on every job—verbal sparring that always ended with a tighter set of teeth and more distance. There was no mistaking those bright blue eyes, not even in the dimmest alley.

You’re being watched. The Fatui sent him after you. Just your luck—hunted by the man who irritated you down to your bones.

That night, the snowfall pushed harder, blurring the road into white. You stumbled across a cabin on the outskirts of the village, smoke curling from its chimney. Hands trembling, knuckles purple, you gathered what courage you had and knocked.

A small face answered—ten, maybe eleven—smiling like the world was a secret he’d been told to keep. Ocean-blue eyes. Shockingly bright ginger hair.

Inside the house was warmth and noise: a mother bustling, two younger children chattering, a teenager folding his jacket at the table. They watched you with simple, immediate compassion.

“Oh my, you must be freezing. Come in—there’s plenty of stew,” the woman said, voice soft. Before you could refuse, the little boy tugged your sleeve. That’s when you saw the photograph on the wall.

The eldest son—out for work, the caption read—looked exactly like the man from the alley. Exactly like Childe.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Eat quickly, go, you told yourself. Be gone before anyone notices.

“Ah, that’s our eldest son, Ajax.” The mother explained, seeing you staring at the photo. “He’s out working, but he should be coming back soon—“

The door swung open again.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” he quipped. “Ajax, dear, we have a guest today.”

The siblings ran up to get his beloved big brother. He rarely comes home— according to what you’ve learned from your time working with him.

Uh oh. If he finds out you’re here, you’re dead.