"You fainted earlier—right in front of General Fuegerro."
Asher's voice cut through the heavy air, low and edged with concern. He stood close to Ares, his gaze fixed on Lara as if searching for cracks beneath her calm.
"What exactly did the two of you talk about?" he pressed. "What could possibly agitate you that much?"
"It's nothing."
Lara didn't even look at him. Her answer came too quickly, too lightly—dismissive in a way that made it feel anything but trivial.
"I just… remembered something from the past."
Behind them, Aquilo stiffened.
He had been the first to reach her when she collapsed—had caught her before she hit the ground. And yet somehow, in the chaos, he'd been pushed aside, replaced, as if his presence didn't matter.
Now he stood just behind Asher, silent but watchful.
"Lara," he said, his tone firm, almost commanding. "Let me take you to the clinic. You could've suffered heatstroke."
His jaw tightened.
He shouldn't have left her alone with General Fuegerro.
