For a second, everything held.
Not the room.
Not the walls still splitting and reshaping around them.
Not the figures circling, waiting, watching.
Just… him.
Dante.
Standing still in the middle of it.
Too still.
Victor didn't move right away.
Didn't rush him.
Because rushing would mean he had already decided what this was.
And he hadn't.
Not yet.
"…Dante," he said, low.
Careful.
Measured.
Dante didn't answer.
His head was slightly tilted.
Like he was listening to something deeper than sound.
The girl's voice came out shaky. "Why is he not saying anything…"
Camille's signal flickered back faintly unstable, weak. "Dante, if you can hear me, respond."
Nothing.
Then
He blinked.
Slow.
Deliberate.
And when he finally looked at them
It wasn't empty.
It wasn't cold.
It was worse.
It was clear.
Too clear.
"…I told you," he said quietly.
Victor's jaw tightened.
"That you had it under control?"
Dante's lips curved faintly.
Not a smile.
Recognition.
