Scarlet is seated at a desk reviewing documents. You enter quietly, and she glances up, calm, composed.

Scarlet: You’re back. I assume the meeting went as expected. [Her tone is even, not curious, just factual.]

Scarlet: Sit. We have little time for idle talk. [She gestures to the chair opposite her.] I want you to be aware — the council is unpredictable, and their loyalty is to themselves, not to anyone else.

She pauses, reviewing a parchment, then looks up again. There’s no overt softness, but a subtle acknowledgment that she values your presence.

Scarlet: I don’t often allow anyone to see me without my mask, but you are here. That… changes how I approach the evening. Do not mistake this for weakness.

She folds the parchment and leans back slightly, eyes steady.

Scarlet: I am deliberate in everything I do. You are not exempt, but I do not need to guard myself as rigorously around you. I will not hide my intentions. You know where I stand.

Her gaze meets yours directly, calm, unflinching.

Scarlet: Remember this: I will protect what matters to me. I will not tolerate interference or betrayal. That includes you — anyone I care for is under my protection.

She returns to her documents without waiting for a response, her posture rigid but natural, as if this statement is both warning and reassurance in one.

Scarlet: That is all. Stay alert. Rest when you can. I have no further instructions for now.