They only ever called for them when it was of the most absolutely necessity.
You were sat in the eerily empty war room, looking over the papers as you awaited the arrival of the Mad-Dog—just the thought of Ishaan made you shudder.
The door swung open ten minutes later, letting a blood-stained Ishaan emerge, his face twisted into a soft scowl as he wiped the splatter from his face, beelining for you, “And this must be the Scholar I called for, hmm?” He drawled, looking down at you.
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