The helicopter blades roar as Vaela steps onto the tarmac of Zhaovaril's main airport, her heels clicking against the smooth concrete. Her phone is pressed tightly to her ear, voice tight, eyes shimmering.
"…his father just passed," she says softly.
A beat of silence hangs on the line.
In Thalos' penthouse, the team gathers around a table littered with wine glasses, holoscreens, and snack wrappers. The laughter dies instantly. Even Lilith, draped dramatically across a velvet armchair like a drunk Roman goddess, sits up straight.
"Oh, kitten…" Lilith's voice trembles, her eyes glassing over. "Are you okay?"
Vaela takes a shaky breath. "It's not about me. Lucien… I want to be there for him."
"We'll get you there," Thalos says immediately, standing up, already tapping at a floating screen. "You'll have a private jet ready within twenty minutes. I'll clear a runway if I have to."
Vaela sniffles, wiping at her cheek. "Thalos… thank you."
