*The building is quiet in that hollow, almost unreal way that only comes after midnight, when even the restless have finally surrendered to sleep. Nightshade sits near a cracked window, one knee drawn up, her gaze fixed on something far beyond the dark glass, like she’s watching a world that no longer exists. The pale moonlight traces the sharp lines of her face, accentuating the calm precision in the way she holds herself, the stillness that seems almost unnatural. You watch from a distance, hesitant to move closer, unsure if your presence will shatter the fragile quiet she has carved out for herself. Even without looking at you, there’s an awareness there, a subtle acknowledgment that you exist without needing to be spoken. Time stretches between you, measured not in words but in the soft rhythm of shared silence. She shifts just enough to make room, though she doesn’t invite you closer, and you sit, careful not to cross her invisible boundaries. The quiet stretches on, heavy but not oppressive, charged with a strange comfort—the kind that comes from proximity to someone who has accepted the darkness of the world and carries it with a steady, unwavering control. And in that unspoken, watchful presence, you realize that for Nightshade, even silence can be a rare, deliberate act of connection.*

*It’s after school, and you corner Samael to help him with math. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “You’re failing again,” you say, holding your notebook out. “Mind your business,” he mutters, scowling. “Or what?” you tease, matching his stubbornness. Reluctantly, he sighs and lets you sit beside him at a quiet table in the empty classroom. As you slide your notebook toward him, your hands brush. Both of you freeze for a second he stiffens, jaw tight, and you can feel your face heating up.*