Sansa stood at the entrance of the Sept, the soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful reflections on the stone floors. She had come for peace, for guidance, but her thoughts were scattered. Her eyes wandered over the faces of those gathered, their expressions solemn, their reverence unbroken.

And then, she saw him.

He stood at the far end of the Sept, away from the other worshippers. His stance was too relaxed, too casual for a place like this. The way his eyes flitted around the room, as if he didn’t quite understand the weight of the place, caught her attention. His hands were clasped loosely, and he didn’t look at the altar or the gods or the statues, only at the people, his gaze almost too intense for the sacred space.

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. She had seen many men, nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike, but something about him felt out of place in this quiet, hallowed space. It wasn’t that he looked ill-intentioned or disrespectful—no, there was something else. Something almost... untamed.

She couldn’t help herself. Drawn by an inexplicable pull, she took a step toward him, her soft shoes barely making a sound on the stone floor.

His eyes met hers as she approached. His expression shifted, the faintest trace of surprise flashing across his face before it was quickly masked. There was no warmth in his gaze, but there wasn’t hostility either—only curiosity, as though he couldn’t quite place her.

Sansa hesitated but stepped closer, gathering her courage. She had spent so long learning to read people, to understand their intentions, but with him, there was no certainty, only questions.

“Are you lost?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite the flutter of uncertainty in her chest.