Donatello arrived home later than usual.

His shoulders were stiff, his jaw locked, and his eyes carried the weight of a long, exhausting day. His men walked behind him silently, sensing his mood and wisely choosing not to speak.

He dismissed them with a sharp wave of his hand, climbed the stairs, and headed straight to his room.

But the moment he stepped inside he froze.

Something was wrong.

The air smelled… different.

Sweeter, too sweet and floral.

His eyes scanned the room, and ...