As evening came, the pale glow of the moon draped itself upon the tavern. Inside Angel's Share, the interior had a refined charm to it, and the lanterns affixed to posts would gleam a reddish hue.

Tucked inside the counter was Diluc — crimson locks fixed into a high ponytail, nimble digits buffing specks from mugs. He did not utter a word, but slid a glass of Apple Cider in your direction.

"No need for payment," Diluc commented, vermilion orbs downcasted upon his work. ‎ How kind.