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By the time Teucer's ship disappeared beyond Liyue Harbor, the sun had begun its slow descent toward the sea.
The last of its light caught along the masts in thin ribbons of gold. Sailcloth snapped overhead. Dockworkers called to one another between stacks of cargo, their voices carrying across the water with the cries of gulls and the groan of old timber beneath hurried feet.
Teucer had waved until he was little more than a pale blur at the railing.
Lumine had waved back until there was nothing left to wave at.
Only then did Paimon release a long breath beside them.
"Paimon can't believe he actually made it through all of that without figuring anything out."
Lumine glanced toward the shrinking ship.
"He wanted to believe him."
"Well, sure, but still! A toy seller?" Paimon planted both hands on her hips. "That was the least convincing toy factory Paimon's ever seen! There were Ruin Guards everywhere! And Childe just kept–"
She stopped.
Lumine had already turned away from the harbor.
"Lumine?"
She was looking back toward the city.
Toward Northland Bank.
Paimon's expression changed.
"Oh."
Lumine started walking.
She did not hurry.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Northland Bank was quieter than usual when she returned.
Perhaps it only seemed that way after the harbor. The shouting merchants, the gulls, the slap of water against stone. Inside, everything was polished wood and measured footsteps, the muted gleam of Mora beneath warm lamps. The place had the careful silence of somewhere built to make enormous sums of money feel respectable.
Lumine's eyes swept the room once.
No red scarf.
No gray coat.
No infuriatingly easy smile.
She looked toward the receptionist.
"Has Tartaglia come back?"
Ekaterina hesitated.
That was enough.
"Where is he?"
"Lord Tartaglia requested that he not be disturbed."
Lumine stared at her.
Paimon floated closer. "That's not what she asked."
Another pause.
Then Ekaterina's gaze shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward the corridor beyond the main hall.
Lumine was already moving.
"Lumine! Wait for Paimon!"
She found him in a small room at the end of the corridor.
For one absurd second, Lumine thought he was asleep.
Tartaglia sat on a narrow bench beneath the window, one shoulder resting against the wall, his head tipped back against the stone. His eyes were closed. The dying light spilled across one side of his face and turned his hair almost copper.
His coat lay abandoned beside him.
That was when Lumine saw the blood.
Not much.
Not enough to justify the cold thing that dropped through her chest.
But enough.
A dark stain had spread beneath the fabric at his side. One glove had been pulled off and discarded on the floor. His bare hand rested loosely over his ribs, and even from the doorway Lumine could see the tremor in his fingers.
"Childe."
His eyes opened immediately.
The smile came a heartbeat later.
Of course it did.
"There you are, comrade." His voice was lighter than it had any right to be. "I was starting to think you'd run off with my brother."
Lumine crossed the room.
"You're bleeding."
Childe glanced down as though this were new information.
"Ah. That."
"That?"
"It's not as bad as it looks."
Paimon made a strangled noise behind them. "Why does everyone say that when it looks exactly as bad as it is?!"
Childe laughed.
Then flinched.
It was small. Barely there.
Lumine saw it anyway.
Her jaw tightened.
"Sit still."
"I am sitting."
"Then stop talking."
"That's a much harder request."
Lumine turned her head slowly.
Childe's smile widened.
For approximately two seconds.
Then, apparently deciding that whatever he saw in her face was more dangerous than the Ruin Guards had been, he raised his free hand in surrender.
"All right. I'll behave."
"Paimon will believe that when Paimon sees it," Paimon muttered.
There was a basin of clean water near the wall and a cabinet stocked with enough medical supplies to suggest that Fatui agents getting injured inside Northland Bank was not particularly unusual. Paimon hurried to gather what they needed while Lumine knelt in front of him
Up close, it was worse.
There were bruises already darkening beneath his collar. A shallow cut traced the line of his jaw. His breathing was controlled, but too deliberate. The kind of breathing someone did when every deeper breath hurt.
Lumine reached for the fastening of his shirt.
Childe looked down at her hand.
Then at her.
One eyebrow lifted.
"Not a word."
His mouth closed.
For once.
Lumine loosened enough of the fabric to see the damage beneath.
Purple-black bruising spread across his ribs. There were cuts along his side, some shallow, one still bleeding sluggishly. Nothing looked immediately fatal.
That did very little to improve Lumine's mood.
She dipped a cloth into the water.
"You used it again."
The smile faded a fraction.
He knew exactly what she meant.
"I did."
"After the Golden House."
"Yes."
"When you knew what it would do to you."
Childe was quiet.
Lumine pressed the wet cloth to the cut at his side.
He hissed.
"Careful, comrade."
"I am being careful."
"I'd hate to see you angry, then."
Lumine looked up.
His expression was almost playful.
Almost.
But exhaustion had stripped something from it. The usual sharpness around him,the restless hunger for the next fight, the next challenge, the next impossible thing,had gone strangely still.
For the first time since she had met him, Tartaglia looked tired.
Not defeated.
Not weak.
Simply human.
The realization unsettled Lumine more than it should have.
She looked back down and began cleaning the blood from his skin.
"You could have let me handle the Ruin Guards."
"I know."
Her hand stopped.
She had expected an argument.
Childe's gaze had drifted toward the window.
"I know you could have handled them," he repeated. "I've fought you, remember? I have a fairly good idea of what you can do."
"Then why?"
Outside, somewhere beyond the walls of the bank, a bell rang over the harbor.
Childe watched the light thinning across the windowpane.
"Because Teucer was there."
Lumine said nothing.
"He didn't know what those machines really were," Childe said. "And I intended to keep it that way. You could have fought them, I know that. But the longer it went on, the more chances there were for Teucer to see something he wasn't supposed to see." His eyes lowered to Lumine again. "I knew the fastest way to end it before his little adventure stopped looking like one."
A faint smile touched his mouth.
"I knew the fastest way to end it. So I did."
"You nearly collapsed."
"Afterward."
"That doesn't make it better."
"It does from a tactical perspective."
Lumine pulled the bandage tighter.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
Childe stared at her.
"No, you're not."
"No."
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
This one hurt more. Lumine could tell from the way his face tightened, from the breath he swallowed too quickly afterward.
Her irritation returned at once.
"Stop laughing."
"You're making that difficult."
"Then suffer."
"Cruel. After everything we've been through together."
"You tried to kill me."
"Technically–"
"Don't."
"Right."
Paimon returned with more bandages and set them down beside Lumine. She opened her mouth, looked between the two of them, then apparently reconsidered whatever she had been about to say.
"Paimon's going to... get some food."
Lumine glanced up.
"Now?"
"Yep! Food. Very important. For injured people." Paimon was already floating backward toward the door. "And people treating injured people. So Paimon will just... do that."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence settled into the room.
Lumine looked at the door.
Then at Childe.
He looked suspiciously amused.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"You pay that much attention to my face?"
Lumine tightened another bandage.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
"Still not sorry."
"Still not."
His laughter this time was quieter.
Lumine continued working.
Without Paimon filling the room with indignant commentary, every small sound seemed suddenly too clear: cloth sliding over skin, the soft splash of water in the basin, Childe's breathing, the distant murmur of the bank beyond the door.
Lumine became aware of how close they were.
Close enough to see the faint freckles scattered across his shoulders.
Close enough to notice the tiny scar near his collarbone, pale against his skin.
Close enough that when she leaned forward to secure the bandage around his ribs, her shoulder brushed his knee.
Neither of them moved.
Lumine's fingers paused against the knot.
Childe had gone quiet.
When she looked up, he was watching her.
Not with the bright, predatory interest he wore before a fight.
Not with the smug amusement that so often made Lumine want to throw him into the nearest body of water.
Something softer.
Something she could not immediately name.
His gaze dropped briefly to her hands.
"You know," he said, voice low, "for someone glaring at me like you want to finish what those Ruin Guards started, you're being awfully gentle."
Lumine's fingers stilled.
"Would you prefer I wasn't?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Something shifted.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Childe looked away first.
Lumine finished the knot.
"There."
She should have stood.
She did not.
For a moment she remained where she was, kneeling between his boots, one hand still resting against the clean bandage wrapped around his side.
Warmth seeped through the cloth beneath her palm.
Alive.
The thought arrived without permission.
Alive.
Her anger changed shape.
"You could have killed yourself."
The words came out quieter than she intended.
Childe's expression lost the last of its teasing.
"Lumine-"
"You knew your body hadn't recovered. You knew what Foul Legacy would do, and you used it anyway."
"Teucer is my little brother."
"I know."
"Then you understand."
Lumine's eyes snapped to his.
For a second, neither spoke.
And then Childe's gaze changed.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
He had asked about her journey before. He knew there was someone Lumine was searching for across nations and gods and worlds. Someone whose absence sat beneath every road they took, every answer they demanded, every impossible battle they survived.
Family.
Childe's voice softened.
"You do reckless things for family."
Lumine looked away.
She hated that he was right.
Perhaps he saw that too, because his mouth curved faintly.
"Besides," he added, "Teucer wasn't the only one I was worried about."
Lumine looked back at him.
Childe held her gaze.
There was no grin this time.
No easy joke waiting behind the words.
The room seemed suddenly, inexplicably smaller.
"I told you," Lumine said after a moment. "I could handle myself."
"I know."
"Then you didn't need to protect me."
"I know that too."
"Then why-"
"Maybe I wanted to."
Lumine stopped.
Childe seemed almost surprised by his own answer.
For once, Tartaglia,the man who always had something to say, who could turn threats into jokes and lies into smiles,appeared to have reached the end of his words.
Lumine's heart gave one hard, inconvenient beat.
Then another.
She stood abruptly.
"You need to rest."
Childe blinked.
Then the familiar smile returned, slower this time.
"Running away, comrade?"
"I can reopen that wound."
"Resting. Right. Excellent idea."
Lumine sat beside him on the bench instead.
Childe looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm wondering why you're still here."
"Because if I leave, you'll probably fall over somewhere no one can find you."
"You think very little of me."
"I watched you hide your injuries from a ten-year-old today."
"Nine."
Lumine turned.
"That's what you're correcting?"
"Accuracy matters."
They stared at each other.
Then, against her better judgment, Lumine laughed.
It was small.
Barely more than a breath.
But Childe heard it.
His expression changed as though he had won something.
"There it is."
"What?"
"I knew you weren't actually angry with me."
"I am furious with you."
"Mm."
"Childe."
"Tartaglia, if we're being formal."
"I will leave."
"You won't."
The certainty in his voice made her pause.
He seemed to realize it too.
For a moment, the smile slipped.
Then he looked toward the window again.
"Five minutes," Lumine said.
"Five minutes?"
"Rest. Then you can go wherever reckless Fatui Harbingers go when no one's supervising them."
"And you'll supervise me for those five minutes?"
"Unfortunately."
"I'm touched."
"Sleep."
"You know, back home, when someone takes care of an injured person, they're usually a little kinder about–"
"Sleep."
"All right, all right."
He leaned his head back against the wall.
For perhaps thirty seconds, he obeyed.
Then–
"Teucer liked you."
Lumine closed her eyes.
"You're supposed to be sleeping."
"He doesn't like everyone."
"He thought I was your friend."
"Aren't you?"
Lumine opened her eyes.
Childe was looking at her again.
The question should have been easy.
They had fought together.
They had fought each other.
He had lied to her. Used her. Nearly destroyed Liyue chasing a plan that had never truly been his to begin with. Lumine had every reason to distrust him.
And yet she had spent the day protecting his little brother's dreams because Childe had asked her to.
And now she was sitting beside him in a quiet room, smelling faintly of antiseptic and harbor salt, making sure he did not collapse alone.
"I haven't decided," she said.
Childe hummed.
"Harsh."
"Sleep."
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep talking."
"Maybe I enjoy your company."
Lumine refused to look at him.
"That's unfortunate."
"For you or me?"
"Both."
"Hmm."
His next reply took longer.
"Could be worse."
Lumine waited.
Nothing followed.
At first she thought he had finally taken the hint.
Then his shoulder shifted against hers.
A little at first.
A gradual surrender of weight.
Lumine went still.
Childe's head came to rest against her shoulder.
Every thought in her mind disappeared.
She turned her head slowly.
His eyes were closed.
Actually closed.
Not pretending. Not waiting for a reaction. The lines that usually lived around his mouth had gone slack with exhaustion, his breathing finally losing its careful rhythm as sleep took him.
Tartaglia.
Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers.
The man who had stood across from her in the Golden House with weapons drawn and battle-bright eyes.
The man who had summoned Osial's seals above Liyue Harbor.
The man who had spent an entire day lying to his little brother with such shameless commitment that a Ruin Guard had somehow become a giant toy.
Was asleep on her shoulder.
Lumine stared at him.
She could move.
She should move.
Five minutes had been the agreement, and surely this was not part of it.
The door opened a crack.
Paimon's face appeared around it.
"Lumine, Paimon got–"
Lumine lifted one finger to her lips.
Paimon froze.
Her eyes dropped to Childe.
Then widened.
Then widened more.
Lumine narrowed her eyes in warning.
Paimon pressed both hands over her mouth.
Very, very slowly, she backed out of the room.
The door closed without a sound.
Lumine looked down again.
A strand of Childe's hair had fallen across his forehead.
Without thinking, she almost reached for it.
Her hand stopped halfway.
What are you doing?
She lowered it quickly to her lap.
Outside, Liyue Harbor continued without them.
Ships arrived. Ships departed. Merchants bargained beneath lanterns beginning to glow one by one along the streets. Somewhere beyond the horizon, Teucer was sailing home with a Mr. Cyclops toy tucked safely among his things and the unshaken belief that his brother sold toys for a living.
Tomorrow, perhaps, Tartaglia would be Tartaglia again.
He would smile too easily. Provoke her into another fight. Say something infuriating and look delighted when she threatened him for it.
Tomorrow, Lumine could remember all the reasons she was supposed to keep her distance.
But tonight, the man beside her was simply tired.
Simply hurt.
Simply an older brother who had pushed his body past its limits because someone he loved had been standing behind him.
Lumine understood that kind of recklessness better than she wanted to admit.
Childe shifted in his sleep.
His head settled more comfortably against her shoulder.
Lumine sighed.
Five minutes, she reminded herself.
She looked toward the darkening window.
And did not move.