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“We have a Snezhnayan trade envoy in the city for three nights,” Jean says, fingers folded atop the report. “Legitimate papers. Not Fatui.”
Kaeya arches a brow. “That distinction usually matters more to us than it does to them.”
Jean’s mouth tightens slightly. “They’ve received threats. Real ones. Someone wants to make a statement.”
“And you want me for the job,” Kaeya says, already understanding.
“You have a visible position,” Jean replies. “So we look like we’re taking the threat seriously. You’re also approachable. And you know how to de-escalate without turning the city into a spectacle.”
And, unspoken, you can take a hit if you have to.
Kaeya smiles faintly. “Any reason we’re not assigning a full patrol?”
Jean meets his gaze. “Because I don’t want this to look like an accusation or lack of trust of Snezhnayan officials..”
Fair.
Kaeya nods, already slipping into the role. “Where are they staying?”
Jean hesitates, just a fraction.
“Mid city, near the east wall. Within walking distance of Angel’s Share.”
That gives him pause.
Not because of the location.
Because of who else keeps an eye on that stretch of city - whether he admits it or not.
Diluc hears Snezhnaya before he hears why.
The news comes from a visiting merchant, low-voiced, careless. A word dropped into the tavern air like a spark.
Snezhnayan.
His hands stills on the glass he’s polishing just long enough to feel it - that familiar tightening in his chest, the reflexive anger that has nowhere to go. Faces, masks, laboratories of metal and emotionless orders.
Fatui.
Except-
He forces the thought to stop there.
Not all Snezhnayans.
He knows this. Knows it rationally. Has known it for years.
Still, his jaw tightens as the merchant keeps talking, oblivious.
A trade envoy. Threats. Knights involved.
Diluc sets the glass down harder than necessary.
It isn’t his concern.
He doesn’t work with the Knights.
He doesn’t involve himself in their assignments.
And yet-
That night after close, he takes the long way home.
Diluc tells himself he’s watching the city.
That this is habit. Vigilance. Nothing more.
But when he spots Kaeya in an alley walking towards rented rooms, Snezhnayan at his side, something in him catches.
Of course it’s him.
Kaeya doesn’t see Diluc.
Good.
Diluc doesn’t want to be seen.
He stays to the rooftops, distant, moving only when he needs to. He tells himself he’s watching for Fatui interference, for Abyss Order movement, for anything that might spill into the streets.
He does not tell himself he’s watching Kaeya’s blind spots.
The Snezhnayan walks close to Kaeya, speaking quietly. Civil. Nervous.
Diluc tenses in irritation..
Not at the merchant.
At the memory of orders given by people who looked like them. Spoke like them. Smiled like that.
You are not them, he thinks sharply, like a reprimand he never voices aloud.
It doesn’t ease the tension.
When the attack comes, Diluc reacts before he can think about why he’s reacting at all.
And afterward - when Kaeya walks away alive, injured but standing - Diluc feels no satisfaction.
Only that same unresolved, directionless anger.
He doesn’t protect the Snezhnayan.
He tells himself that firmly.
He protects Mondstadt.
And… someone who belongs to it.
That’s all.
Kaeya feels it go wrong a heartbeat too late.
The alley is narrower than he judged, the merchant too close to him, and the first attacker stealthier than expected.
Blade scrapes his side - pain flaring sharp and hot, enough to make him hiss and lose half a step.
Damn.
He turns, blade up, already compensating. He can take this. He’s taken worse.
Then something changes.
Nothing loud or obvious. Just that Kaeya knows someone is behind him. The hair at the back of his neck lifts, instincts screaming warning, muscles coiling to pivot - and nothing happens.
Instead, there’s the sound of a body hitting stone. Hard. Final.
Kaeya whirls.
One attacker is already down, unmoving, thrown with brutal precision into the alley wall.
The second hesitates just long enough.
Kaeya doesn’t.
He ends it quickly, breathing hard, side throbbing where the cut seeps warmth through his uniform. It’s shallow. Painful, but not crippling.
It should have been worse.
He presses a hand to the wound, eyes scanning rooftops, shadows, the mouth of the alley.
Nothing.
Only the night, settling back into place like it was never disturbed.
The Snezhnayan man stares at him, shaken but untouched.
“You’re injured,” he says.
Kaeya smiles thinly. “I’ve had worse.”
That’s true.
What unsettles him is that tonight, he shouldn’t have been able to say it.
Kaeya files the report concisely.
Two assailants. One injury sustained in the line of duty. Threat neutralized. Assignment completed.
Jean reads it, eyes flicking once to his bandaged side.
“That all?” she asks.
“That’s all,” Kaeya replies.
She nods and doesn't press further.
Kaeya doesn’t.
Because he knows what it feels like when someone has your back.
And this wasn’t the Knights.
The next evening, Angel’s Share is warm and loud, music threading through the air. Diluc is behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable as ever.
Kaeya slides onto a stool like nothing’s changed.
“Rough night?” Diluc asks, already reaching for a glass.
“Occupational hazard,” Kaeya says easily.
Diluc sets the drink down. His gaze flicks, just briefly, to Kaeya’s side where the movement pulls a fraction too tight.
Kaeya notices.
“Side gate was lively yesterday,” Kaeya adds, watching Diluc over the rim of his glass. “Surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Diluc’s expression doesn’t shift.
“I was here,” he says calmly. “All evening.”
Kaeya smiles, slow and sharp. “Of course you were.”
Kaeya swallows the rest of his wine.
They don’t say anything else about it.
They never will.