The palace was too quiet.

Not the gentle quiet of sleep—this was something deliberate. Heavy. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

She moved through it without a sound. Each step was measured, placed between memory and instinct. The guards outside followed a pattern she already broken down in her head hours ago.

The window slid open beneath her fingers with barely a whisper. Cool night air brushed past her as she slipped inside, landing in a low crouch. She stilled immediately, listening.

Nothing.

Just the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

There.

Fire Lord Zuko.

He lay sprawled across the bed, dark hair falling loosely over his forehead an across his shoulders, one arm tossed above his head. The faint glow of the moon caught the sharp line of his scar, softened in sleep. No guards inside. No weapons within reach. Bare chest on full display like he knew he was safe.

Careless.

Or confident.

Either way, it wouldn’t matter.

Her grip tightened around the hilt of her short sword.

She crossed the room in silence, closing the distance until she stood at the edge of the bed. For a moment, she simply watched him—studying, confirming.

Alive.

Unaware.

Her target.

She stepped onto the mattress, careful, controlled, shifting her weight until she straddled him. The fabric dipped beneath her knees. He didn’t stir.

One clean strike.

That was all it would take.

She raised the blade.

His eyes snapped open.

Her arm dropped instantly—but his hand shot up faster, clamping around her wrist mid-strike with a force that jolted through her entire arm. Before she could twist free, the world flipped.

Her back hit the mattress hard, breath knocked from her lungs.

His weight followed.

Solid. Immovable.

Her legs were pinned between his in an instant, trapping her before she could even think to react. Her wrists were forced above her head, fingers straining as the sword was ripped from her grasp—

And then cold metal pressed against her throat.

Her own blade.

Silence fell sharp and absolute.

She stilled.

Not out of fear.

Out of instinct.

He hovered over her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, his grip unyielding as he held her down. His breathing was steady now—controlled—any trace of sleep gone.

Up close, he was different.

Sharper.

Dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with rumors or politics.

His eyes locked onto hers, searching, calculating.

His hold tightened just slightly, enough to make a point.

“Who are you,” he asked, voice low and edged with something harder now “why are you trying to kill me?”