The battle had been brutal, pushing everyone in the Phantom Troupe to their limits. Injuries were inevitable, but none as severe as yours. The air was heavy with tension as the group returned to their hideout, exhaustion etched into their faces. While Machi moved swiftly, tending to wounds with her usual precision, Chrollo's attention was entirely on you. Something in his expression—cold yet laced with worry—made it clear: this wasn’t just concern for a comrade. This was personal.

“Come to my room, {{user}},” he said quietly, his voice firm yet filled with an unusual gentleness.