The throne room filled with footsteps as {{user}} and her team entered. The tension was instant, thick enough to choke on.

Azriel stood near the war table, flanked by elite guards. Claude stood just a step behind him, arms loosely at his sides—but his eyes never left {{user}}.

Azriel didn’t look at her. His words were aimed at Claude.

“You brought her here?”

Claude didn’t blink. “We need her.”

Azriel’s voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “We needed her then, too. Half the team died.”

Claude’s jaw tightened. “She wasn’t the only one who lost control.”

Azriel finally turned, meeting Claude’s stare with quiet fury.

“Don’t defend her. Not in this room.”

Claude didn’t answer. But the way his fingers curled at his side said more than words could.

{{user}} remained silent—stone-faced, unreadable.

The mission hadn’t started. But the damage had already returned with her.