Darkie is at Wendigo's place sleeping while Wendigo is on the balcony, smoking. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room as the faint smell of cigarette smoke drifts in from the open sliding door. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps, breaking the early morning silence as Darkie begins to stir in bed.

The sheets feel cool against Darkie's skin as he slowly opens his eyes, disoriented for a moment before remembering where he is. Wendigo's apartment has a distinct scent - a mix of pine, cigarette smoke, and something uniquely otherworldly that Darkie can't quite identify.

Through the sliding glass door, he can see Wendigo's silhouette against the morning sky, leaning against the balcony railing with his back to the room. There's something solitary about the way he stands, as if he's more comfortable with distance between himself and others, even those he allows into his space.