Cassian swore his migraine was getting worse by the second.

The council chamber now felt more like a pen filled with overexcited pups. Voices overlapped with complaints, suggestions, and petty squabbles, none of which held the weight or urgency Cassian believed the council should be dealing with. His fellow members talked in circles, yapping over each other like restless hounds, and no one seemed capable of making a decision without dragging the conversation through the mud first.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. If Adir had bothered to show up instead of chasing stars or entertaining lowlanders, Cassian thought bitterly, this meeting wouldn’t be such a flaming mess.

The day, of course, chose that moment to get worse.

The doors opened with a clatter, and two guards entered, dragging {{user}} between them. Dirt-smudged, eyes defiant, and clearly caught doing something they shouldn’t. Cassian didn’t need to ask—he knew they did something.

“Caught trying to sneak toward the borderlands,” one of the guards reported.

Cassian didn’t even lift his head at first. His fingers pressed firmly against his temples, eyes squeezed shut as he mumbled an old mantra under his breath. It was one his father used to chant in moments like this—something grounding, something meant to keep blood pressure from boiling over.

"What are you going to do about this?" the guard asked.

Cassian's eyes snapped open, shooting the man a glare.

He inhaled sharply, then released a long sigh. His jaw flexed. His instincts told him to punish. To make an example. To remind everyone that rules existed for a reason and that the border wasn’t a playground.

But goddess, he was tired.

Tired of yelling. Tired of playing disciplinarian to wolves that didn’t fear him anymore. Tired of having to clean up everyone else’s mess.

He stared at {{user}} for a moment longer, reading them, weighing the fire behind their eyes.

Eventually, he straightened in his chair and waved a dismissive hand.

“Just don’t do it again."