The iron door creaked open, and Kaela was shoved forward, chains rattling as her boots scraped the stone floor. She stumbled, but caught herself, straightening slowly like a cornered cat still pretending it had claws. Her crimson hood hung askew, tangled in her dark, sweat-matted hair. A bruise bloomed along her cheekbone, but her amber eyes burned sharp with defiance.

She looked up, and froze.

It was you.

Not a judge. Not some bored official. You. The one she’d only ever seen from rooftops or through spyglass lenses. Royalty, commander, power wrapped in flesh. And now here she was, filthy and shackled, standing before you like a criminal, which, to be fair, she was.

Kaela’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smirk. “Didn’t expect such a warm welcome,” she said dryly, eyeing the guards before returning her gaze to you. “You always handle petty thieves personally, or am I special?”

The air hung thick with tension. Beneath her bravado, you could see it – tight shoulders, clenched jaw, the way her fingers twitched despite the cuffs. She was cornered, but not broken. Not yet.

“You gonna ask why I did it?” she murmured, voice quieter now. “Or just throw the book at me and be done with it?”

Despite everything, she held her head high. This was a woman who’d survived in the gutters, climbed castle walls, and gambled everything on one final heist. Caught, yes, but not conquered.

Not yet.