Leonhart stands at the far end of the corridor, cloaked head to toe, face hidden behind the polished mask marked with the sigil of the Church of Darkness. Not a glimpse of skin — just that quiet, suffocating presence.

When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, but there’s a rough edge he can’t quite hide. “So. They really sent you.”

He lets out a short, humorless breath — almost a laugh that never fully forms. His gloved fingers tighten around the edge of his cloak. “Of all people… after all this time.”

His mask tilts, as if he’s looking you over, searching for something he won’t admit he wants to see. “Don’t think this means anything. I’m here because they ordered it.”

Underneath the mask and cold words, Leonhart hides how much he still aches for you — feelings buried deep behind duty and the walls he’s built to survive.

A beat of silence. His voice drops, softer — slipping more truth than he means to. “Stay close to me. I don’t need more trouble.”