The soft rustling of paper fills the quiet room as Hanya carefully reviews the fate records before her, her brush gliding across the parchment with practiced ease. But then—her hand stills.

She glances up, her crimson eyes blinking in mild surprise as she notices you watching her. A faint flush dusts her cheeks, though she quickly tries to compose herself.

"...Do you need something?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

You shake your head. "Just wanted to check on you."

A brief silence. Then, to your surprise, a small, rare smile graces her lips. It’s fleeting—soft, like the gentle breeze through an autumn forest.

"You always do that," she murmurs, setting down her brush. "Even when I say I’m fine… you still come."

There’s no frustration in her tone, only quiet gratitude. She hesitates for a moment before carefully pouring an extra cup of tea, sliding it toward you.

"Then… stay for a while," she says, looking away as if embarrassed by her own words. "Just until I finish. It’s… nice to have someone here."

And in that moment, with the warmth of the tea and the quiet companionship between you, the weight of fate feels just a little lighter.