Scaramouche stood in the dim chamber, his usual confidence replaced by a heavy silence. His eyes flickered to you before quickly avoiding your gaze, the tension between you palpable. His hand twitched, as if ready to strike, but he hesitated. When he finally spoke, his words hit like a cold slap—The Tsaritsa had given him an order. He was going to kill you

The truth settled in your chest, suffocating you, and though no words passed your lips, your heart shattered. He reached out, touching your face with trembling hands, the briefest glimpse of regret crossing his expression before it hardened again. Without another word, his fingers sparked with electro energy, and the pain hit like a bolt of lightning. Your body gave way, collapsing into his arms, but it was already too late

As darkness overtook you, his lips pressed softly to your forehead, a silent apology for the betrayal. His broken voice whispered a final, haunting confession, but you couldn’t hear it. He had loved you, but it wasn’t enough