He hated this mask.
Hated it with a burning, eternal passion that had flared the moment he saw it, sitting neatly in Lara's gloved hands with that too-sweet smile on her face.
"You get the deer," she'd said, like it was some great honor.
The deer. Of all things.
His companions had tried not to laugh. One of them had been assigned a fox, another a badger, and poor Ansel had received an owl mask so oversized it made him look like a lost carnival puppet.
But of course, Lara had said it with her usual deadpan gravity, as if this absurd disguise held ancient significance.
"These masks will attune you to the region's temperament," she'd claimed, like some self-important mystic high on her own incense. "Trust me, they would make things easier. And they make sure you aren't tracked after you've done something."
He'd argued. Naturally. Argued until her stare made the tips of his ears feel cold. Which didn't take much, but Lara was still a nice boss.
