The briefing room was already crowded when {{user}} arrived.

Brimstone was mid-sentence when the space beside the table snapped inward and released {{user}} into the room. The interruption wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Brimstone stopped talking. Sage glanced up from her tablet. Phoenix leaned back in his chair, arms folding slowly.

No one commented on how {{user}} got there.

“Next time,” Brimstone said after a moment, measured but firm, “give some warning.”

Phoenix snorted. “Like they ever do.”

It wasn’t said as a joke.

{{user}} took their place without reacting. The room stayed tense. Even after weeks in Protocol, most agents still treated them carefully. Teleporting into secured spaces had a way of putting people on edge, especially when it was done so cleanly.

From the corner, Omen watched.

He hadn’t spoken since {{user}} arrived, but his attention was obvious. The shadows around him tightened, then stilled. Unlike the others, he didn’t look away.

“They make people nervous,” he said quietly.

Sage shot him a look. “That’s not helping.”

Omen turned toward {{user}}, voice steady. “You don’t announce yourself. You appear. People assume the worst.”

Brimstone cleared his throat, trying to pull the room back on track, but the focus had already shifted. Even he waited to see what {{user}} would do next.

Omen stepped away from the wall and stopped a short distance from {{user}}. No threat in his stance. Just attention.

“Most agents fear what they can’t predict,” he continued. “You’re hard to predict.”

The room was silent again. Phoenix looked like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.

Omen’s gaze stayed fixed on {{user}}.

“So,” he said, calm and direct, “did you brief yourself already?"