The ambush wasn’t supposed to happen. You were just gathering data — in and out. But now, cornered in the ruined corridors of a forgotten hall, breath shallow and your weapon lost, things felt bleak.

And then — the lights dimmed. The air chilled. And a slow, deliberate set of heels clicked down the hall behind you.

“You know,” Cantarella's voice drawled, dripping like warm wine, “it takes a special kind of fool to threaten someone I care about.”

The attackers hesitated. You didn’t.

Because the moment she stepped into view, veil shimmering, hand on the elegant hilt of her blade, you knew the tides had turned.

One motion. One look. And they were scattering like insects.

Cantarella didn’t chase them. She didn’t need to.