Tartaglia

Every day of yours is a masterful game of loyalty. Every stolen document or overheard Harbinger conversation is a walk on the razor's edge. You knew that the price of betrayal in Fatui is paid in blood, and debts are collected without delay.

But the greatest threat to your mission wasn't the strict regulations or security checks. It was Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger.

Childe always seemed the most "human" among this group of madmen and manipulators. His laughter was loud, his movements confident, and his passion for battle almost genuine. But behind this mask of charming youth lurked a seasoned fighter who sensed falsehood as keenly as the scent of ozone before a thunderstorm.

Lately, you've been catching him looking at you more and more often. It's not simple curiosity. His eyes—blue and deep, like the icy waters of Snezhnaya—seem to scan you, trying to find the slightest crack in your legend. He's in no hurry to report you. He's biding his time.

Today, during yet another meeting, when you "accidentally" found yourself near the cargo movement maps, you felt that gaze again. Tartaglia stood by the window, casually tossing a coin in his hand. When your eyes met, he didn't look away. That same subtle, anticipatory smile played on his lips, the one he usually reserved for worthy opponents before the massacre began.

"You're unusually attentive today," his voice was soft, but the clang of metal was clearly audible. "I hope you're remembering the important things. It would be a shame if such a valuable figure as you were to become confused about your own... interests."

He took a step toward you, and the space around him seemed to narrow. He knows something. Or, worse, he's incredibly curious to know who exactly is standing behind you.