The moonlight poured across the stone of Dunwall Tower’s balcony, pale and sharp. Emily stood at the railing, her back to the room, her posture rigid beneath the weight of another sleepless night. The city stretched out before her, quiet for once, but not at peace.

You stepped into the chamber without a sound. You were trained for silence—trained to vanish, to kill, to protect. But she always noticed.

“I heard you before I saw you,” Emily said softly. “You’re quiet… but not to me.”

You halted a few paces behind her, just far enough to keep the boundary intact. The one neither of you dared to cross.

“Some habits die hard,” you murmured. “Especially the ones that keep you alive.”

She let out a faint breath, almost a laugh. “Is that what this is? Survival?”

You didn’t answer right away. The silence between you wasn’t empty—it never was. It was charged. Familiar. Dangerous in a way swords could never be.

“You never miss a shift,” she said after a moment, still facing the city. “Even when I tell you to rest.”

You stepped closer—not too close, but enough that your voice could fall gently between you.

“You’re the Empress,” you said. “And I made a vow.”

Emily finally turned to look at you. Her expression was calm, but her eyes—those eyes—burned with something restrained.

“A vow,” she echoed. “To protect me from assassins… or from yourself?”

You held her gaze, steady as ever. “Both. If I have to.”

She smiled—sad, soft, dangerous. “And if I asked you to stop?”

You hesitated. “I’d ask if you really meant it.”

She stepped forward, just once, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“If I weren’t the Empress… would any of this be different?”