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When dusk falls, its lengthening shadows still unfamiliar to Minfilia’s eyes, the Scions scatter throughout the city. Some venture deeper within the Tower’s crystalline walls; others to their rooms in the Pendants; and others, like Thancred, to the Wandering Stairs for a drink.
He’ll stumble back to their quarters before it grows too late… and hopefully in a good mood, the kind where once in bed he might wrap his arms around her and pull her back to his chest, mumbling to himself with smoke and stale spirits on his breath as it brushes warm across her ear. It’s only because of the drink, Minfilia knows, but it makes her heart beat fast against her ribs anyways. It’s infinitely better than when he returns in a dark mood: where he’s unable to even look at her and he turns to face the door instead, his back at hers a solid rejection.
No matter what mood Thancred finds himself in tonight, it’s sure to sour if she’s not back safely before him. He worries, after all.