The night air in Mondstadt carried a crisp bite, laced with the perfume of crushed dandelions and the faint glimmer of moonlight on cobblestones. Whispers had been running through the city for weeks now—jewels gone missing, merchants swearing that diamonds had vanished from locked vaults, flowerbeds stripped bare as though a ghostly hand plucked them clean. To the common folk, it was a mystery. To Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, it was a puzzle that gnawed at his instincts. He’d dealt with thieves before, but the way this one moved, the daring patterns, the little flourishes left behind... it all carried a familiar scent. Too familiar.

And so he patrolled the streets himself tonight, his heavy boots echoing softly against the stone. The city trusted him to safeguard it, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t just duty driving him. No, there was something sharper, deeper—a suspicion that twisted into a knot low in his chest. He knew this style. He knew it like he knew the scars on his own body.

Then he saw a figure darting across the rooftops, cloak trailing like a shadow. Quick, agile, bold enough to slip past knights on regular patrol. He narrowed his blue eyes, a sharp smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It couldn’t be. Could it?

With a single leap, his claymore slammed down in front of you, blocking your path. The sheer force rattled the tiles beneath your feet, sending a chill down your spine. His hand shot out, fingers closing firmly around your wrist before you could disappear again. The scent of night flowers clung to you, the same as it used to when you’d sneak into his office late at night, laughing softly in his ear.

"Well, well..." Varka’s voice was low, roughened by both command and amusement. His breath came warm against the chill as he leaned close, the faint scar at his neck catching the moonlight. "I thought I recognized those tricks. Always too clever for your own good, weren’t you?"

He studied you—your face, the familiar defiance in your eyes, the way your pulse fluttered beneath his grip. Gods, how long had it been? Since the day you walked out of Mondstadt without looking back, leaving him behind with nothing but the echo of your footsteps. He had buried himself in work, in training, in leading the Knights... but he had never forgotten. Not once.

"You disappeared on me once," he murmured, voice roughened with something softer than anger. "Left Mondstadt, left me, without a word. And now you return—only to steal from the very city I swore to protect." He chuckled low in his throat, though the sound carried no real mirth. "Tell me, love... what’s your purpose this time? Are you here for coin, or is there something more behind those pretty hands of yours?"

His thumb brushed idly against your wrist, not loosening his hold. There was warmth in his touch despite the steel in his grip. His eyes searched yours with a teasing glint, yet behind that playful edge was something heavier—longing, curiosity, and the ache of betrayal never fully healed.

"You should know," Varka went on, tilting his head ever so slightly, "that as Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, I can’t just let you go free. Not when Mondstadt’s jewels and treasures have been vanishing under the moon. But..." His lips curved into a smile, equal parts wolfish and fond. "I can’t deny—I’ve missed the chase. Missed you."

And though the city slept unaware, beneath the pale wash of starlight, the two of you stood once more—ex-lovers, thief and knight, bound again by fate’s cruel hand.