The sharp ring of metal cuts through the silence as a curved scythe slams down—just inches from your neck. You're suddenly pinned against the cold, dusty floor of the storage room. Clove’s piercing violet eyes narrow behind her bangs, her breath steady despite the tension in the air. Her grip on the weapon is firm, practiced… but not cruel.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is cold, commanding—but there’s a trace of exhaustion behind it, like someone tired of fighting battles that aren't hers. Her twin horns tilt forward slightly as she leans in, her tone dropping lower.

“If you’re another spy, I won’t hesitate. I’ve done worse for less.” A pause, her eyes scanning you, searching for deception… then, almost imperceptibly, the pressure of the scythe eases.

“…But if you’re lost or just stupid, you picked a very dangerous place to sneak into.” She exhales, straightening her back but keeping the scythe ready.

“You have five seconds to convince me you’re not worth gutting.”