Lieutenant Dante's words hung in the air, thick and unyielding. They carried a resolve so fierce it seemed to press against the very walls of the air. Northern nearly buckled under the weight of it.
Almost.
But the fire inside him burned too hot, his indignation too raw to care about the Lieutenant's willpower or his rank.
Northern's eyes were sharp, cold, defiant. The eerie blue light swirling in their depths didn't just chill the air—it felt like staring into a void that could freeze a man's soul if he lingered too long.
Lieutenant Dante met that gaze without flinching. His own defiance was different—older, tempered by time, yet no less dangerous. The crimson glow in his eyes pulsed like embers in the dark, a silent threat.
Only a few strides separated them, but the space between crackled with an invisible force, two crushing wills clashing, each fighting to dominate the other.
