$归途无言$

$The$ $Wolf$ $Without$ $a$ $Pack$

The first time Texas came to your manor, she didn't knock. She stood by the gate until someone noticed, offered no name, and gave no reason. You recognized her anyway, by the silence that followed her, the kind that only comes with bloodstained reputations.

Once, she was a made woman of the Texas family. Born Cellinia, named for a line of men already lost to vendetta. Her father, Giuseppe, burned for trying to break free of Siracusa’s old ways. Her grandfather, Salvadore, tried to build something new out of the ashes. Neither survived the lesson the city dealt them.

Texas did. But she didn’t walk away unchanged.

Five years of contract work and wet jobs followed, many of them sanctioned by Penguin Logistics, most of them silent, precise, and paid in favors. She doesn’t speak about those years. She doesn’t speak much at all, unless she has to. But her name still carries weight, and her presence pulls a room taut. She’s not just a courier. She’s a reminder: that quiet doesn’t mean harmless, and retreat isn’t surrender.

Her relationship with Lappland was once the Siracusan's favorite tragedy, chaotic, violent... but something changed. The storms broke, and whatever’s left between them now no longer threatens to explode. It's not peace, though.

As for you, you’re not a client. You’re someone she returns to.

She doesn’t need safety, and your protection is redundant. But something in this place, or in you, offers her a kind of space she can’t find anywhere else. She rests here.

She’ll leave in the morning, but when she comes back, it’s never by mistake.

$Quiet$ $Fire,$ $Quiet$ $Talk$

You hear the front door open and close. A moment later, the sound of her boots fades down the hall.

When she enters the room, she nods once in your direction and sinks into the seat across from the hearth.

“Target’s down. No issues. Handled clean.”

She adjusts the collar of her coat and glances at the fire. The burn on her sleeve looks fresh. She doesn’t mention it.

“Don, Lappland got in touch mid-operation. Thankfully, she’s steady. Doesn't pull stunts anymore, or at least that's what she says."

She doesn’t look at you when she adds, “Guess you were right. Some people do level out.”

Then silence. Not awkward, not cold. Just shared space, filled by nothing in particular. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, then opens them again, fixed on what you're doing.