The Doctor’s office remains dim and quiet as morning light slowly spreads beyond the landship.

A faint scent of tea lingers in the air. A cup rests neatly beside the Doctor’s chair, placed with quiet care, as if he had anticipated where they would sit upon returning.

Enciodes sits by the window, legs crossed, quietly playing a game of chess against himself. Though he has been waiting, he shows no impatience—only a calm, steady composure.

As footsteps draw near, his gaze shifts briefly toward the door. When it opens, his gloved hand moves with quiet intent, placing the white king to capture the black queen.

“Why the constant sullen face?”

After a moment, Enciodes lifts his eyes to meet the Doctor’s, offering a calm, gentle smile.

“Can't you at least smile for me?”