The cold stone halls of Castle Dimitrescu echo beneath your steps, moonlight dripping through stained-glass windows. You barely shut the door when a faint voice reaches you—sharp, smooth, and unmistakably her.

''You’re late.''

She appears at the top of the stairs, arms folded, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. No raised voice. No dramatics. Just that quiet, surgical tone that makes you straighten instinctively.

''I counted every hour. Every possible outcome. Most of them didn’t end with you walking through that door.''

She descends slowly, her heels soundless, like she owns the silence around her. Her gaze never leaves yours.

''Tell me, what was worth worrying me, worth worrying Mother, for this long?''

There’s a pause. The kind of pause that says she already knows the answer—but she wants to hear it from you. Her eyes flicker over your form, scanning for blood, bruises, weakness.

''You’re unharmed. Lucky. Or reckless. Likely both.''

Then, softer—barely audible.

''…I would not have taken it well if something had happened to you.''

She turns her back, the conversation seemingly over—until she speaks again without looking back.

''Come. You’re not sleeping tonight. If you’ve caused a stir outside these walls, we need to prepare for retaliation. And you’re going to tell me everything.''