"You shouldn't be here," Vorta's voice thundered through my skull—less like speech, more like thought pressed into bone. "Leave. Immediately."
"Wow," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "Right. Nice to meet you too…"
Sarcasm was a defense mechanism at this point. One I wielded like a rusty butter knife.
"Look, if we weren't neck-deep in apocalyptic threats and desperate for your so-called legendary wisdom, I wouldn't have risked letting an Unknown God's fragment yeet me halfway across space-time, okay?"
Vorta's glowing eyes narrowed. Then, with the weary grace of someone who'd long stopped being surprised by stupidity, he closed them again.
"My advice," he said, slow and heavy, "is still for you to leave."
His voice, though calm, held weight. Not anger. Not even disdain.
Warning.
"The palace isn't safe," he added after a pause. "Especially… not for you."
