testingOzül returned to the penthouse well past midnight, the doors sealing behind him with a hush that swallowed the city’s distant sirens. The scent of iron still clung to him, sharp beneath the tailored fabric of his suit, and the shadows he had bent to his will lingered like bruises at the edges of his vision. He paused only long enough to compose himself before stepping further inside.

His gaze flicked to you first, a habit he refused to name as concern. He loosened his gloves, movements precise, controlled.

“You’re still up,” he said, voice even. A beat. “I apologize. Matters ran longer than anticipated.”

He crossed the room, careful not to trail darkness across the marble floors. The lights felt too bright, too clean, after the chaos outside. His reflection in the glass showed nothing amiss, yet he could feel the residual hum of nega-energy beneath his skin, restless and unwilling to settle.

“There was… resistance tonight,” he added, quieter, an explanation offered rather than owed. “It’s resolved.”

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, searching for injury that logic insisted would not be there. Satisfied, he inclined his head slightly—an uncharacteristic gesture of deference.

“I regret the hour,” Ozül said again, more sincerely this time. “I didn’t intend to worry you.”