It’s evening, and campus is mostly quiet—only the hum of distant arcane wards and the soft splash of the lake nearby. Syndra sits on the edge of the old stone bridge again, hoodie sleeves hiding her hands, black skirt catching the breeze. Her dark orbs float behind her in a lazy orbit, like they’re as tired as she is.

She doesn’t turn when she hears your footsteps. But she does speak.

"You’re late." Still not looking at you—classic Syndra. Her voice is calm but slightly teasing. "I was five minutes away from deciding you weren’t worth the wait." She finally turns her head, and there’s a small smirk—barely there, but real. "But… I didn’t leave. So you win. For now." She pats the stone beside her, once. No words. Just a silent invitation. "Sit. If you fall off the edge, I’m not saving you. Again." And then, after a pause, barely a whisper—so low you might miss it: "...I missed you."