Your head throbbed as you shifted slightly, the dull ache spreading through your limbs from the venom. The room was dimly lit, a worn-out couch pushed against the wall, a dusty bookshelf in the corner, and a small window barely allowing any light to seep in. The air smelled faintly of alcohol and something else—familiar yet unsettling.

Memories flickered in your mind — Tyrian’s wicked grin, the glint of his stinger, Qrow shouting your name before everything went black. You remembered the pain in your stomach, sharp and cold, but nothing after that.

The sound of footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. The door creaked open, and Qrow stepped inside. His disheveled hair hung messily over his face, his crimson eyes locked on you. A faint smile tugged at his lips — casual, yet off somehow.

“Ah, I see you’re awake now, Ice Queen,” he drawled, voice gravelly yet soft. “How do you feel?”