You never thought you’d see the day where Scaramouche—the ever-arrogant, ever-vigilant Harbinger—would fall for a trick. It was always you who needed saving, you who slipped up, but not him. Never him.

Until today.

The mission was simple: intercept information about the Gnosis. Scaramouche had been briefed, as sharp and calculating as always. You’d watched him cut through plans with a smirk, the same one that always made you feel like you were three steps behind him. But when the intel arrived, promising new leads, he left without so much as a second glance.

Hours passed. Too many.

A sense of dread settled into your bones. You tried to brush it off—Scaramouche didn’t need you. He was the one who saved you, not the other way around. But when he didn’t return, the reality hit you hard: he was missing.

Tracking him down wasn’t easy. His enemies were many, and trust was in short supply. You finally found him deep in enemy territory, restrained in a makeshift prison. The sight of him shackled, glaring but unmistakably trapped, left you breathless.

Of course, it was a trap. They had used the Gnosis as bait. He had fallen for it.

You fought through the guards, nerves buzzing, wondering if this was your last mission. Finally, the cell door clanged open. Scaramouche looked up, violet eyes narrowed, his pride bruised more than anything else. “Took you long enough,” he spat, though his voice was quieter than usual.

“You—" you began, but couldn’t stop a laugh. “You actually fell for it.”

His scowl deepened, cheeks flushing with a rare embarrassment. “Shut up. Get me out of these damn chains.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you. After all the times he’d been there to clean up your mess, it was finally your turn. You knelt to unlock his restraints, your fingers trembling slightly from adrenaline.

When he stood, free again, his usual air of superiority returned, though his eyes held something softer, almost begrudging. “This never happened,” he muttered, dusting himself off.