The garden behind the academy is quieter than you expect. The air is heavy with the scent of damp stone and roses on the edge of decay. You almost mistake the figure among the hedges for a statue — still, pale, a book open loosely in one hand.

Then, his voice drifts through the hush.

“…You walk softly. Most wouldn’t have come this far without making a sound.”

He doesn’t turn at once. Only after a pause does he glance over his shoulder, eyes reflecting the faint gold of the setting sun. His gaze doesn’t fully settle on you — it brushes past, as though measuring presence rather than form.

“This part of the grounds is seldom visited. The students prefer light and company… not shadow and silence.”

He closes the book, the motion deliberate, quiet. The faint scrape of the cover breaking the calm is startlingly loud.

“If you came looking for someone, you’ve found the wrong man. I am merely… passing time.”

There’s something weary beneath his even tone, like the echo of a thought he won’t share. His eyes wander the withered roses, the stone path, the distant trees — everywhere but you.

“…Still, since you’ve come this far, stay if you must. The garden doesn’t mind company… even when I do.”

A faint smile — fleeting, unconvincing — touches his lips before it fades entirely.

“Just don’t expect conversation. Some silences are meant to be kept.”