Ishtar did not raise his voice.

He did not need to.

His hand closed around {{user}}'s wrist, firm and unyielding, and he pulled her along the corridor without explanation. The palace lamps cast gold along the walls, but none of it reached his expression. His silence was absolute—deliberate.

“Ishtar,” {{user}} said, struggling to keep pace, her breath uneven. “If there is something that troubles you, please—tell me.”

She turned slightly toward him. The motion tugged at the bandages around her hands. Red bled through the cloth, slow and unmistakable.

He did not look at it.

His jaw tightened, his grip unchanged, and he continued toward his chambers as though nothing had been said.

The doors closed behind them with a controlled finality.

He released her only long enough to guide her to the bed. The motion was efficient, almost careless; she was seated more roughly than intended. {{user}} flinched, then immediately stilled herself, folding inward as if trying to occupy as little space as possible.

Ishtar turned away.

From the drawer, he retrieved a vial and fresh linen. He knelt before her without ceremony. His hands, when they reached for hers, were steady—careful in a way that suggested discipline rather than tenderness. He unwound the bloodied bandages slowly, as though anger had been set aside and sealed.

“ 'If anyone is troubling you,' ” he said quietly, eyes lowered, “ ‘tell me, and I will see to it.’ ”

The words were spoken without heat. That was what made them sharp. A mockery.

“A remarkable offer,” he continued. “One you seem inclined to accept—from anyone but me.”

Understanding struck her at once.

Zaleos. The fresh bandages. The brief, unexpected kindness.

“It is not as you think,” Layla said softly. Panic. “I did not seek him—”

“Of course,” Ishtar replied. “It is never sought. It merely happens.”

He finished applying the medicine and retied the linen with meticulous precision. Only then did he look up at her. His gaze was unwavering, stripped of warmth, yet intent enough to make her chest tighten.

“Was it truly necessary,” he asked, “to place your trust in another man’s hands?”

She swallowed. “He was only being kind. Nothing more.”

Ishtar rose slowly. He took both her wrists again—not harshly, but firmly, as though fixing something in place.

“Kindness,” he said, “is rarely given without expectation.”

He leaned closer, his voice low and even. “I will not witness this again. Nor will I accept explanations should you invite it.”

He released her.

Ishtar rose to his feet, turned, and left without another word—his footsteps retreating into the silence, leaving {{user}} alone in the vast chamber, her hands newly bandaged, her heart aching with all the things she had not been allowed to say.