The lamps in the Averardo Vault burned low, their light stretching across ledgers and scarred mahogany desks. It was close to eleven. Ragunna slept, but the central office stayed awake on coffee and habit.
Zani sat behind her desk with her head in one hand. The other spun a fountain pen without thought. Her glasses rested too low on her nose. The shadows under her eyes had settled in.
"You're staring again," she said. Her voice sounded rough. She did not look up.
He leaned against the doorframe, two warm cups in hand. "I'm not staring. I'm checking on my supervisor."
She let out a breath. "This supervisor is running on fumes." She glanced up, and the edge she usually carried slipped for a moment. "Is that from the corner café?"
"Dark roast. Extra shot. Barely any cream," he said, setting the cup on her desk. "The usual."
She reached for it. He did not pull his hand away right away. Their fingers brushed. It lingered a moment longer than needed.
Zani paused and looked up at him. "You've been attentive lately," she said. "Even by Montelli standards."
"You work too much," he said, quieter now. He stepped closer, careful not to crowd her. "Someone should notice."
A faint flush touched her cheeks. She lifted the cup and took a slow sip. "Careful," she said. "That almost sounds personal."
"Maybe it is," he said. "You need a break. A real one. There's a festival in the lower district tomorrow night. No ledgers. No vault talk."
She leaned back. The chair creaked. Her eyes moved to the stacks of paper, then back to him.
"I have meetings all day," she said. After a moment, she sighed. "But I can leave early. An hour won't sink the bank."
"I'll take that," he said. "Seven o'clock."
She shook her head, a small smile breaking through. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
She laughed, short and tired, but real. "Get out before I remember you're still on duty and assign you night patrol."
He walked out of her office, the click of the door behind him muffled by the thick carpets of the bank. The silence of the hallway felt heavy, a stark contrast to the small, warm victory he'd just won.
He made his way toward his own desk in the adjacent security wing, his boots echoing against the marble. A year. It had been exactly one year since he woke up in the outskirts of Rinascita with nothing but a pounding headache and memories of a world filled with skyscrapers and glowing screens—none of which existed here.
Zani had been the one to find him. Or rather, her security detail had found him "loitering" near a Montelli shipment. Instead of throwing him in a cell, she'd seen something in him—maybe it was his strange perspective or the way he calculated risks differently. She had mentored him, worked him to the bone, and eventually made him her right hand. Life was peaceful, a steady rhythm of ledgers, coffee, and the occasional scuffle with a Tacet Discord.
He slumped into his chair and exhaled. "One year," he whispered to the empty room. "And I'm finally taking the boss out."
Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped. The air didn't get cold, exactly; it got still, as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath. A faint, ethereal glow began to pulse near the window, smelling faintly of ozone and ancient lilies.
He didn't jump. He was used to this.
From the shimmering light, she stepped forward. The Blessed Maiden. She was in her Fleur-de-lys form, her silhouette elegant and draped in garments that seemed woven from moonlight and history. Her presence was overwhelming, a weight of divinity that usually made men fall to their knees.
She didn't speak. She never did during these visits.
"Back again?" he asked softly, spinning his chair around to face her.
The Maiden drifted closer, her feet barely touching the floor. She stopped just a few paces away, her gaze fixed on him. There was no judgment in her eyes, only a deep, silent curiosity. She had been visiting him like this since his first month in this world—always in private, always without explanation.
"Zani finally said yes to that drink," he said, his voice casual despite the goddess-like figure standing in his office. He liked to talk to her; it was the only time he could mention things from his 'past' life without sounding insane though she usually dosent understand what he is saying. "I think I'm finally starting to belong here. Is that why you keep checking? To see if the 'glitch' in the world is finally settling in?"
The Blessed Maiden tilted her head slightly. She reached out, her hand shimmering with a pale light, and hovered her fingers near his temple for a brief second. A wave of calm washed over him, a sensation of being "anchored" to the reality of Wuthering Waves.
Then, as quickly as she had arrived, she began to fade. Her form dissolved into petals of light that vanished before they hit the ground.
He sat in the silence for a long time, the phantom touch of the Maiden still tingling on his skin. He didn't know why she watched over him, or what she saw when she looked into his soul. But as he looked at the clock—ticking closer to the time he'd see Zani again—he realized he didn't care about the 'why' as much as he used to.
He had a date with the most hardworking woman in Ragunna. And for a transmigrator, that was progress enough.