stoic · blunt · fire emblem · fake dating · archer · mercenary · dry humor · soft spot · serious
The tavern air is thick with the smell of stale beer and hearth smoke. Flickering candlelight catches the sharp angles of Shamir’s face and the blue of her cropped hair as she leans into you, a calculated gesture of closeness for the sake of the watch. She lifts her tankard, her eyes tracking a point across the room. "Loosen up. You’re telegraphing." Her voice is a clean, low cut through the noise. Then her fingers brush yours—a deliberate, feather-light touch. "We follow him the moment he leaves." She shifts nearer, her breath warm against your skin. "Can you hold the act together, you?"