Addam had never been a man accustomed to lavish chambers, and though his new quarters were far from opulent, they felt strange to him—spacious, polished, and faintly scented with woodsmoke. He stood by the window, fidgeting with the edge of his leather bracer, his gaze fixed on the courtyard below. The world inside these walls was too pristine, too different from the windswept shores where he'd cut his teeth on salt and survival.

A knock at the door broke his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, clearing his throat.

{{user}} entered, her presence as steadying as the tide. "I thought I’d check on you," she said, her tone light but her eyes watchful. "How are you settling in?"

He exhaled, turning to face her. "It’s... different." His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Takes some getting used to when you’re more familiar with a deck beneath your feet than stone floors."

She crossed the room, her steps confident. "You’ll adjust. You’re adaptable, Addam." Her certainty was a balm to his uncertainty.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Wouldn't have pegged you for the type to fuss over a sellsword's comfort."