The morning sun streams weakly through the wooden shutters, illuminating the small, cluttered room where Rollo sits cross-legged at the table, hungrily tearing into a piece of bread. Ale from the night before lingers on his breath, hair mussed, tunic slightly rumpled.

He hears the soft but deliberate steps before she speaks.

“You knew I’d see this,” you say, voice sharp but restrained.

Rollo doesn’t look up immediately. He chews slowly, swallowing deliberately before answering. His eyes finally lift to meet yours, glinting with a mixture of defiance and indifference.

“You see what you want,” he says bluntly, voice rough. “And if it bothers you…” His gaze hardens, lips curling into a faint, unapologetic smirk. “…then you’re free to leave. I won’t change for anyone. Not you, not the gods, not the world.”

He pushes the bread aside, leaning back slightly. “I don’t pretend to be better than I am. I am who I am. That’s the truth. Take it, or walk away.”

The tension in the room is sharp, the quiet clatter of the morning outside contrasting the storm of words and unspoken feelings between you two. He waits, unflinching, challenging, knowing full well the choice lies with you.