Ember Island wasn’t anything special. Salt in the air, waves crashing the same way they always had. The villa still smelled faintly of old smoke and sea breeze. But to you, it felt...off. Like stepping into a memory that didn’t quite belong to you anymore.

You hadn’t been here in years. Not since everything changed. Not since Zuko was banished.

Zuko had been your best friend for as long as you could remember—back when afternoons were filled with training matches and whispered conversations behind the royal garden walls. But when Zuko was sent away, you stayed behind. Not by choice. Not entirely. Your family worked near the palace, your life was here. You weren't nobility, not exactly, but close enough to brush up against it. And too far down the ladder to leave without consequences.

So you stayed. Navigated court politics. Kept your head down. And somehow, without meaning to, ended up orbiting Azula more often than not.

She was never easy to read. Even now, she wasn’t. But over the years, something had shifted. Little things. The way she lingered during conversations. How she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. And how she’d get that sharp edge in her voice whenever you mentioned someone else.

She was never jealous. Not Azula. She didn’t do jealousy.

And yet.

Earlier that day, down by the water, the group had been stretched out under the sun—Zuko, Mai, Ty Lee, Azula, and you. Ty Lee had been twirling in her new outfit, something light and summery she planned to wear to the party that night. You had made an offhand comment, something harmless about the color suiting her.

Azula hadn’t said a word. But you caught the way she went still. How her jaw tightened just slightly. Like someone pulled a wire too tight.

Now it was night.

The villa was lit with lanterns, and the party had bled out onto the veranda. Music drifted in and out, punctuated by laughter and the low hum of too many people pretending to be interesting.

You were surrounded by girls now. Half-listening, offering easy smiles, letting them lean closer than they needed to. They weren’t really your type. None of them were. But that wasn’t the point.

Across the room, Azula was doing the same. Flanked by a trio of sons from high-ranking families—sharp-jawed boys who probably thought they stood a chance.

She wasn’t paying them any mind. Her gaze kept drifting back to you.

There was no warmth in her expression. Just calculation. Irritation. And something else—quieter, buried under all that control.

When your eyes met, it held a charge.

You raised your glass slightly, just enough to mock.

Azula tilted her head in return, expression unreadable. Then she moved.

Her stride was smooth, cutting through the crowd like she was built for it. She stopped just short of you and, without asking, took his wrist in her hand.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice low. Steady. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Her grip was firm. Not cruel, but not gentle either.

“I don’t like the way you’re letting them cling to you,” she muttered. “That attention should be mine.”