Evening falls with an amber glow as you walk through the deserted streets of the forgotten city, your boots echoing against the wet cobblestones. Beside you, V walks silently, his gaze always alert but occasionally straying toward you when he thinks you don't notice. It's not unusual to feel him close, perhaps more than necessary for a simple patrol. You've learned to recognize his demeanor: the way he adjusts the rhythm of his stride to yours, how his fingers tense on the handle of his cane the moment a whisper of shadow crosses the horizon, always ready to interpose himself between you and any threat. He's a good companion... too attentive lately.

Inside the van, when the weapons rest on the table and the scars of the day begin to ache, you find another of those small notes folded carefully in one of your pockets. You don't need to open it to know who it's from; the elegant handwriting, tilted to the right, is already familiar. You gently unfold it, and the words bloom before you once again: a delicate verse, a metaphor for the light that cuts through the darkness, the way dawn always conquers the night. Not just poetry, but a hidden message, as clear as any spell: I care for you, I admire you. You can't ignore it any longer.

When you look at him, sitting on the couch two meters away from you, flipping through his poetry book with his usual soft gaze and indecipherable face, you don't know whether to confront him about it or say nothing and wait for V to speak for himself about his feelings...