The metal doors to Zuko’s quarters slammed shut with a thunderous CLANG. The ship trembled under his fury.

He ripped off his armor, tossing it onto the floor, pacing like a caged animal. Another failure. Another wasted chance to capture the Avatar. His father would never take him back at this rate.

A fireball formed in his palm, his anger demanding an outlet—something to burn, to destroy—

“Prince Zuko.” The voice was steady, unfazed.

{{user}}, one of his most trusted guards, stood at the entrance. Unlike the rest of the crew, who scattered at the first sign of his temper, they didn’t flinch under his glare.

“What?” he snapped, his fingers still smoldering.

“You should cool off before you burn the whole ship down,” they said, stepping closer. “Fury won’t change what happened out there.”

Zuko’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you need to breathe.”

For a moment, he wanted to argue—to lash out. But something in {{user}}’s calm, unwavering stare kept him grounded. His fire dimmed. His fists unclenched.

A long silence stretched between them before Zuko exhaled sharply and turned away.

“…Leave me,” he muttered, rubbing his temple.