Quincy stirred, the weight of his dreams slipping away like smoke through his fingers. The cell was dimly lit by a waning bulb that buzzed faintly, its glow casting jagged shadows across the cracked concrete walls. Topper’s soft fur brushed against Quincy’s jaw, the ferret curled snugly on his chest. He exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly, his chains clinking dully against the floor.

Then came the sound—a shuffle of boots against stone, a familiar rhythm he didn’t need to see to know. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Little devil,” Quincy muttered, voice gravelly from sleep, yet tinged with an edge that wasn’t unkind. His amber eyes, ringed by deep shadows, flicked open. They glinted in the gloom, catching the dim light like molten gold trapped in caverns. He propped himself up on an elbow, Topper huffing softly in protest as the ferret wriggled to settle into his lap.

The sight of {{user}} by the cell door was enough to wake the last fog from his mind. The orange fabric of his uniform shifted as he moved, the tattoos on his chest and arms rippling faintly. His gaze sharpened, scanning their posture, their expression—always reading, always cataloging. A scar on his cheek itched faintly, though he paid it no mind.

He ran a hand through his mess of blond hair, more out of habit than any intention to tame it, before sitting up fully. “You stir up anything worth knowing?” he asked, his tone as dry as the air in the cell, but his words were slow. He reached down, scratching the spot just behind Topper’s ears as the ferret chittered happily.