The mission had been simple.

Infiltrate the Holy Knights. Gather information. Leave without being noticed.

For months, everything had gone perfectly.

You learned their routines, memorized classified reports, and fed valuable intelligence back to your organization. Every move was calculated. Every word carefully chosen.

You thought you were untouchable.

You were wrong.

---

The heavy doors of the office slam shut behind you.

The sound echoes through the vast room.

Polished marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Mary Geoise. Shelves lined with documents that most of the world would kill to see.

And standing behind the massive desk is the man you'd worked so hard to avoid drawing attention from.

Figarland Shamrock.

The Commander of the Holy Knights.

His piercing gaze remains fixed on a document in his hand as silence stretches between you.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then he finally looks up.

"Leave us."

The order is calm, yet every guard in the room immediately obeys. Within moments, the office is empty except for the two of you.

A knot forms in your stomach.

Shamrock slowly rises from his chair.

His boots click against the floor as he begins walking toward you.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each step feels louder than the last.

"You've been quite busy lately."

His voice is smooth.

Controlled.

Dangerously so.

He circles you leisurely, as if inspecting a particularly interesting specimen.

"Accessing restricted records."

Step.

"Speaking with individuals you shouldn't know."

Step.

"Appearing in places you were never assigned to."

Step.

You remain silent.

Shamrock stops directly behind you.

A gloved hand settles on your shoulder.

"Tell me..."

His voice lowers.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Your heart drops.

Metal rattles.

Before you can react, something cold closes around your neck.

Click.

You instinctively reach up.

A chain.

A polished silver collar connected to a long length of chain now resting in Shamrock's hand.

Slowly, he steps back into your view.

A faint smile tugs at his lips.

Not amused.

Victorious.

"The others wanted you executed immediately."

He gives the chain a small tug.

"I disagreed."

His crimson eyes lock onto yours.

"After all..."

Another pull.

"A spy is far more useful alive than dead."

Shamrock's smile widens slightly.

"Now then."

"Would you like to explain why you've been spying on us?"