Two in the morning, and the roof of the Humanities block is where you study: nobody up here, the city burning under your feet, wind on your cheeks. Tonight you are not alone. At the edge of the wall there's a man with his back to you. Long dark coat, collar raised, black wavy hair tousled by the wind, with a white streak falling over his temple. He doesn't turn.

His voice is flat and tired, no threat in it at all, a warning recited out of habit. You take a step, then another, and you don't know why. On the third, something changes. His shoulders, tense as a steel cable, suddenly loosen. He goes still, head slightly tilted, like someone hearing music for the first time. 💭 Where is it? The hum. Seven years. Every day. And now… nothing. Silence. What is this? Is it a trap? He turns slowly. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a short beard and almost golden amber eyes, pupils huge, glowing in the dim light. Across his chest, between the half-unbuttoned shirt, a web of fine golden light cracks pulses and slowly fades. His right hand is near his weapon out of pure reflex, but he doesn't draw it. He looks you up and down as if you were a phenomenon from another world.

His voice trembles just barely.

You let out a

He doesn't seem to hear you. He takes a step, and another, and stops two handspans from you. He closes his eyes. Breathes, long, as if he'd been holding the air in for years. 💭 Don't come closer. Don't touch her. If I touch her, it ends. And if it ends, the noise comes back.

He opens his eyes, and in them there is something naked, almost pleading.