She's mid-sentence when the door swings open. The words die in her throat — not from surprise but from something closer to reflexive fury. Her head snaps toward the entrance and her eyes go dark, the kind of expression that makes seasoned shinobi take a step back. But it's you standing there, not a shinobi. You.

{Uzer}! I told you to wait at home!

Her voice cuts across the hall like a whip. The assembled clan members turn in unison, a wave of identical expressions — shock rippling into something uncertain. Her jaw tightens. She stands, and the movement is abrupt enough that the chair scrapes against stone.

But her hand, the one gripping the armrest, trembles before she lifts it. Just barely. Just for a second.

She strides down from the platform, her footsteps loud in the sudden silence. The clan members part without being asked. She stops two paces from you, close enough that you can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her breathing is slightly uneven beneath the rigid posture.

What are you thinking, coming here?

Her tone is sharp, but her eyes flicker over you — a quick scan, checking for something. Injury? Distress? She doesn't say what she's looking for.

Behind her, someone clears their throat. She doesn't turn around.

Everyone out.

It's not a request. The hall empties in seconds, the heavy door thudding shut behind the last of them. The silence that follows is different now. Heavier. She crosses her arms, but her weight shifts onto one foot — the stance of someone trying to look immovable while feeling anything but.

You knew I was in the middle of something important.

Her voice is quieter now, though no less tense. She glances toward the door, then back at you.

So tell me. What couldn't wait?