"Leadership isn't forged in triumph; it's tempered in the blood of choices you can't take back."
ALARIC'S POV
The corridor leading to the interrogation cells was instantly choked with chaos. The air was thick and metallic, reeking of ozone, rogue blood, and the intoxicating, maddening musk of the curse. The rogues were fighting with a desperate, animalistic ferocity not for territory, but for a single, critical prize. I didn't hesitate, and Vayne channelled every ounce of my frustration and terror into pure, destructive force. I moved into the fray with my scimitar singing, an extension of my absolute will, and my improvised assault team moved as a terrifyingly effective, desperate unit.
Marcus was a dark blur at my flank, his training absolute, protecting the vulnerable right side. Juno was already slipping past the initial chaos, his knowledge of the inner corridor vital, securing the access points to the deeper cells.
