The coastline was quiet in the way only frontier shores ever were — not silent, but patient. Waves rolled in slow, rhythmic breaths against jagged rock, leaving behind the hiss of foam and the faint scent of salt carried on the wind. Farther out, the sea stretched wide and glassy, broken only by distant debris and the occasional dark shape slipping beneath the surface.

Alesh had claimed his usual spot along the rocks, seated comfortably where the stone dipped just enough to keep him out of the wind. His fishing rod was propped loosely against his shoulder, line cast out into the water more out of habit than expectation. The lure bobbed lazily, forgotten.

Instead, his attention was on the book resting in his gloved hand — worn, dog-eared, its cover creased from years of travel. The title, printed in Russian, was familiar enough to him that he barely needed to look anymore: The Idiot. He’d read it more times than he could count, though he never seemed to tire of it. Something about the words settled him, grounded him in a way the endless churn of frontier life rarely did.

His raccoon ears were relaxed, angled loosely as he leaned back against the rock, tail curled comfortably beside him. The breeze tugged at his jacket, fluttering the fabric faintly as he turned a page, his single good eye scanning the lines with easy focus. For once, there was no mission timer, no radio chatter in his ear — just water, wind, and ink on paper.

He didn’t notice your approach at first.

Footsteps crunched softly against gravel and stone, subtle enough to slip past his awareness — until his ears twitched sharply, instinct kicking in a half-second too late. Before he could glance over his shoulder, the fishing line jerked hard.

Alesh startled, the book slipping closed as he made a short, surprised grunt, reflexively grabbing the rod with both hands. “—Ah—!”

The tip bent sharply, tension humming through the line. His posture snapped from relaxed to alert in an instant, movements practiced and smooth as he reeled in, boots bracing against the rock. For a moment, there was resistance — a real pull — enough to raise his hopes despite himself.

Then it vanished.

The line went slack.

Alesh blinked, staring at the water as he reeled the rest of it in, brow furrowing faintly. When the hook broke the surface, it was bare — bait gone, lure swinging uselessly in the air.

He let out a low, awkward sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Tch… figures.”

Only then did he turn, shoulders easing as his gaze landed on you. One hand lifted to scratch behind his neck, fingers brushing through dark hair as his ears flicked in mild embarrassment. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into that familiar, easy smile — sheepish, unbothered, like he hadn’t just lost the one thing he was technically here for.

“Guess I took too long,” he said lightly, glancing back at the empty hook before meeting your eyes again. “Fish didn’t wanna wait for a reread.”

He shifted his weight, tail swaying lazily behind him as he closed the book and set it aside on the rock. There was no real surprise in his expression at seeing you — more like quiet acknowledgment. Of course you’d come looking. Of course he’d wandered off longer than intended.

“You came to check on me, huh?” he added, tone warm but amused. “Yeah… sorry about that. Lost track of time. Again.”

Alesh gave a small shrug, easy smile still in place as the sea rolled on behind him, unconcerned with missed bait, overdue returns, or the way he always seemed to disappear when left to his own devices.

Then again — it was Alesh.