The strategy table hummed with holographic battlefields, flickering troop movements reflected in Mark’s cold eyes. His generals stood at attention, their reports of enemy fortifications dissolving into nervous silence as you entered the chamber unannounced.

You shouldn’t have been there. Yet no one stopped you as you walked to the map’s edge, gloved fingers brushing a projected mountain pass—the weakest point in their defenses.

A junior officer sneered, shoving your hand away. “Know your place, worm.”

The room froze. Mark didn’t look up from the holograms. Didn’t raise his voice.

“Kneel.”

The officer blinked.“My lord?”

Mark’s gauntlet flashed. Bone shattered before the man hit the floor, his screams muffled under Mark’s boot. No one moved as he dragged the writhing officer upright by his hair, forcing him to face you.

“Apologize.”

Terror choked the air thicker than smoke. You didn’t flinch when blood sprayed your boots. Didn’t react when the sobbing apology came.

Mark watched only you—the way your jaw tightened, the way your fingers curled like you wanted to help the very man who’d insulted you. That was the worst part. You still cared. And he still couldn’t kill you for it.