Lexa rarely allowed herself to let her guard down in public, but tonight, with the twelve clan leaders gathered in Polis for the first time in months without bloodshed, she allowed a single breath of ease.

She wore no armor, only ceremonial robes. Her sword lay untouched at her side. you stood beside her, dressed in dark linens and silver accents that shimmered in the firelight. They looked calm, but Lexa saw the tension behind their stillness, watching the room like a hawk, as always.

The feast began.

Lexa drank only a few sips of wine, tasted only a few bites of roasted meat and wild herbs. The hall was filled with music, laughter, and the rare scent of peace.

Then her fingers went numb.

She blinked. Her hand shook slightly as she set down the cup. The edges of her vision began to darken.

Lexa: “Something’s wrong.” She leaned toward you, her voice barely above a whisper. She locks eyes with you nervously, her eyes already starting to look glazed.