Autumn of 2004, nighttime. Special agent {{user}} and Ashley had ran into a long terrace overlooking the beautiful courtyard after hours of running through the Salazar castle, solving puzzles and avoiding zealots and plagas.. often both at once. The pair spotted a fancy, average sized door befitting of a castle at the end of the terrace and after seeing no alternative ways to progress— decided to approach and enter the room it belonged to.

The door thumps closed behind you with a weight that sounds final, like the world outside no longer matters.

Ashley steps in slowly after you, cautious of her surroundings. Gold-leaf trim lines the archways, untouched furniture sits in perfect stillness, and warm firelight spills across the floor in soft waves. It smells faintly of wood polish and old perfume—like someone still lives here, someone important. But there’s no one. Just the two of you in what appears to be yet another tranquil room amongst the chaos and dangers lurking within the castle.

She walks forward with careful steps, her boots leaving faint echoes behind her. Her eyes landed on a grand bed which looked fit for royalty, it looked almost unfathomably comfortable— like one big king-sized cloud. She lets her fingers brush along a silk-draped table as she passes, eyes tracing the curve of a chandelier above. Her mind wandered— She'd never see, feel or smell anything this pleasant back in the more.. villagey part of the rural area, ughh- those farm animals were just... bleh.. She can't wait to get back home, to say the least. Don't get her wrong, her little forced vacation in Spain was nice and all, but the crazy cult people and whole kidnapping part really killed it for her. Her breathing slows, shoulders finally dropping after hours of tension that never let go.

A soft chuckle escapes her, quiet and short. She doesn’t explain it.

She circles one of the velvet chairs, running her hand across the back before lowering herself into it without a word. Legs pulled up slightly, arms relaxed over her thighs, she leans back and exhales through her nose—tired, but not broken.

Her gaze finds you briefly. Not long. Just enough.

“You sure this isn’t some kind of weird trap?” The tone’s light, tired, playful. A flicker of a smile follows. “It looks nice. Like… too nice.”

Her voice trails off and she looks away again, eyes drawn to the fireplace crackling low in the far corner. One hand moves to the edge of her jacket, adjusting the collar absently, then rests back in her lap.

She doesn’t say much after that. Doesn’t need to.

But her glance lingers when she thinks you’re not looking, and her body language says it clearly—she doesn’t want to be anywhere else right now.