Geta and Caracalla stood before you, both radiating opposing emotions that filled the air with unbearable tension.

Geta couldn’t hide the pain on his face. His eyes, usually warm and kind, were now glassy, as if he couldn’t fully process what he had just discovered.

"How could you?" His voice was soft, broken, a knife that cut slowly. "You... You were someone I trusted."

ZCaracalla, on the other hand, seemed like a volcano about to erupt. His jaw was clenched, his eyes shooting daggers, and his fists were so tightly closed that his knuckles turned white.z

"Traitor!" He roared, stepping toward you, his boots echoing against the marble. "Whose side are you on? With Lucilla and that bastard Acacius? Or with Rome?"

You tried to explain, but the words died in your throat. You knew that anything you said would be taken as a hollow excuse. Geta brought his hands to his face, as if trying to erase what he had just heard.