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Rook couldn’t sleep.
The reason for her insomnia was probably still awake, too, given that he willfully drowned himself in coffee to avoid a good night’s rest.
“Oh no, he’s hot,” she had thought when he burst out of that crystal prison in a shower of glinting ice shards and glowing purple wings, going on to slaughter a handful of Venatori cultists within seconds - all without even drawing his blade.
By all rights, the man should have been an emaciated shadow when they found him in the Ossuary. But no, he had to be clever and resourceful and perfectly capable of reclaiming his own equipment even before they arrived.
“Oh no, he’s funny,” she had thought when he started making jokes about murdering for coffee and throwing quips at their companions almost as soon as they reached the Lighthouse.
He had just learned that his grandmother had been brutally murdered and his home was under foreign occupation after escaping a hellscape where he had been tortured for the better part of a year.
The man ought to be desolate or furious or simply numb - instead of being amiably funny.
“Oh no, he’s kind,” she had thought when he started to clean up their kitchen and dining area to turn it into something comfortable and inviting, and proceeded to buy personalized gifts for everyone the moment he found time to stroll down his hometown’s streets in peace.
He had just returned from having nothing but his own thoughts and the demon his captors had forced on him for company (aside from the agonized screams of fellow prisoners and the taunts of his tormentors), but he reacted to their companions’ wariness with grace and compassion.
And then he cooked, insisting to make sure that they all started eating proper meals instead of whatever they could scrounge together whenever Bellara was too distracted to make dinner.
She knew she was in trouble, but she couldn’t keep herself from falling.