Chapter Text
Mondstadt slept.
The city no longer carried the restless unease it had during the incident surrounding Stormterror. The windmills turned at an easy pace, banners hung without strain, and the great statue in the plaza stood unmarked by corruption. To most, it felt like peace.
Jean did not trust it.
A single lamp burned in the Knights of Favonius headquarters long past midnight. Its light spilled across her desk in a careful circle, illuminating patrol reports and half-annotated maps. She stood rather than sat, reading through the same page for the third time, her brow furrowed.
Abyss Mage sightings along Wolvendom’s perimeter.
Hilichurl formations that withdrew instead of charging.
She set the report down and reached for another, suppressing the ache in her shoulders. The city slept, and she stayed awake, “For Mondstadt, as always,” that motto ringing in her head.
The sound at the window was faint, boots against stone, deliberate and controlled.
Jean did not reach for her sword.
She turned just as the latch shifted, moonlight spilling into the room. A tall figure stepped inside with the ease of someone who had done this before, closing the window behind him without ceremony.
Diluc Ragnvindr did not apologize for the intrusion.
After Stormterror, after the truth of the Darknight Hero had stopped being rumor and started being something Jean could not afford to ignore, Diluc had begun appearing like this. Late at night. Unannounced. Always with information the Knights did not have yet, and warnings they needed before it was too late.
They had never named it aloud. There was no need.
“Jean,” he said quietly.
She inclined her head. “Master Diluc.”
The title sat between them like a wall neither acknowledged. He remained standing near the window, coat still on, crimson eyes already assessing the room. He looked unchanged at first glance, composed and distant, but she noticed the thin cut along his knuckle, hastily treated, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
He had not come lightly.
“You’re up late,” he said.
“So are you.”
A corner of his mouth twitched, but it was not quite a smile.
They did not sit. They rarely did anymore.
“I won’t take much of your time,” Diluc said, reaching into his coat. He withdrew a folded set of notes and placed them on the edge of her desk, careful not to brush her hand. “Abyss Order activity has increased in the last month. Not in force yet, but definitely in movement.”
Jean unfolded the pages, eyes scanning quickly. Locations. Timings. Patterns. Her frown deepened.
“These patrol routes,” she murmured. “They avoid Knights entirely.”
“They’re watching,” Diluc replied. “Probably mapping responses or testing boundaries. Take your pick.”
Jean looked up. “How certain are you?”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
There it was, the unspoken weight of his presence.
Jean straightened. “You’re not offering to work with us, are you.”
It was not a question.
Diluc met her gaze evenly. “No.”
She nodded once, accepting it without argument.
“I don’t want your people walking into an ambush blind,” he said. His voice did not rise, but there was steel beneath it. “I won’t be responsible for that.”
Jean absorbed his words carefully.
“I appreciate the warning,” she said. “We’ll adjust patrols immediately.”
Diluc’s shoulders eased by a fraction, as if he had been expecting resistance.
Jean gathered the reports, aligning them with her own notes.
“You’ve been tracking this alone,” she observed.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“…”
She did not press further. Some questions were not meant to be answered.
“I don’t want to ask you to stay involved,” Jean said after a moment. “But if you learn more…”
“I’ll pass it along,” Diluc finished. “As I have now.”
Their eyes held. Something unspoken flickered there, fragile and dangerous in equal measure.
Once, they would have spoken freely. Once, there had been trust without qualifiers, concern without distance. Jean remembered late strategy meetings that blurred into dawn, arguments that ended in shared resolve, the quiet certainty that they stood on the same side.
That certainty had not survived everything.
“You should rest,” Diluc said abruptly, glancing at the lamp. “You’re pushing yourself.”
Jean allowed herself a small, tired smile. “That sounds like concern.”
“It’s observation,” he replied, too quickly.
She did not challenge it.
“Thank you,” she said instead.
Diluc hesitated.
For a heartbeat, it seemed he might say something more. His gaze softened, just barely, before hardening again.
“Be careful,” he said.
Then he was gone, the window closing behind him with a whisper of displaced air.
Jean stood in the quiet office, the lamp flickering softly beside her. She looked down at the intel he had left, at the care taken in each mark, each warning offered without obligation.
He did not trust the Knights.
But he had trusted her enough to come.
Jean exhaled slowly and gathered the papers into a neat stack. Tomorrow, patrols would change. Orders would be issued. Lives would be spared, if she did her job correctly.
Trust could not be demanded. It had to be rebuilt, brick by brick.
Outside, Mondstadt slept on, unaware of the eyes watching from beyond its walls.
Jean extinguished the lamp.
Dawn would come soon enough.