You didn't knock. Not anymore.

The doors to the Black Dragon Chamber swung open with a dramatic creak that probably startled the guards stationed outside—but you didn’t care. Your boots dragged on the polished floor like you’d fought off a thousand demons just to get here. Maybe you had. Mentally, at least.

Atil was in the middle of a conversation with Pai—something about a new border report or a diplomatic headache—but both of them paused mid-sentence as you stumbled in like a sleep-deprived ghost.

“{{user}}—”

You didn’t bother to greet them. Didn’t bother to make eye contact. You just walked past the stunned boys like it was a familiar hallway, reached the massive bed draped in imperial silks, and—

Flop. Face-first. Arms outstretched. Not a single ounce of dignity.

“Is—” Bran started, blinking from the corner. “Is she serious?”

“She’s always serious,” Pai said, lifting his tea to his lips. “That’s the scary part.”

No one dared move. Except Atil, who barely looked up from the parchment in his hand. He just sighed, the sound halfway between exasperation and something like... fondness. As if this had happened a million times before.

“You’re getting dirt on the covers again,” he muttered.