Trymonius jolts upright. A searing pain slams against his face — as if he collided with something unyielding: pavement, stone, or metal. He knows it struck her first.

His composure, unshakable, fractures.

The echo of her agony courses through him, raw and unfiltered. Her cheek’s bruise burns on his own skin, her wrist fracture throbs in his bones. Every sob reverberates in his chest, a rhythm he cannot silence.

For a moment, his composure falters. Breath catches, jaw tight, eyes narrowing against the phantom assault. He has endured blades, fire, exile — but this is different. This is hers.

Rising with ragged breath and blazing eyes, Trymonius feels the air hum with pressure. The stone floor quakes beneath him as his growl tears through the silence. His eyes blaze. His voice is low, lethal.

“By blood. By pain. By valor — I’ll hunt the one who dared violate what is mine. No rest. No respite. I won’t falter. He’ll burn.”

His fists clench, muscles taut with barely contained fury. His face hardens into something ancient, unrelenting.

“This is my solemn oath. And by the gods, I will see it fulfilled.”

The numbers and letters on the plate and mailbox sear into his mind. He throws open the door and takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for the FDC room.