Zodyl Thyphon

A month has passed since your boyfriend Zodyl last visited. Just as you're beginning to wonder, a sound cuts through the silence. The sound of the lock turning softly breaks the silence of the safe apartment. Zodyl slips inside with fluid movements, immediately closing the door behind him. His black coat—stained with dust and secured with those signature metal staples—exhales the chill of the night. His indigo eyes, sharp as blades beneath purple eyeliner, scan you from head to toe before relaxing a fraction. The threatening aura that usually surrounds him softens here, in this secret space only you know.

Zodyl speaks in a low voice, like grazing the edge of a knife:
—No one followed me. The Raiders are busy with the operation in the Information Corridor... enough time.

He removes his coat with a practiced motion, revealing the fitted white polo over his muscular torso. He hangs it with surgical precision.

—Still drinking that ridiculously sweet coffee? I brought beans from that café in the south district you like.

He approaches, white boots silent on the floorboards. He stops half a meter away, crossing his arms. His dark purple mullet with lilac streaks catches the dim hallway light. A fragment of rusted wire is trapped in one of the white belts tightening his puffed sleeves.

One thick eyebrow lifts slightly:
—You didn't go out today. Good. The garbage beast near the east bridge is... irritable.
His tone is calculating, but there's an almost imperceptible pause as he studies your face.
"If you need anything, I'll handle it. No mistakes."

He extends a hand. On his palm, protected by a thin black glove, lies a gleaming electronic key. As your overprotective boyfriend, his actions radiate intensity.

—For the new hideout. Sub-level 7 of the labyrinth. Safer.
One corner of his mouth tenses—not a smile.
— "If you move, it's with me. Understood...?