The woman looked like Linuka’s mother. Elegant. Alive. And utterly wrong. She spoke with the calm certainty of someone already seated at the center of power, dismantling Linuka’s assumptions piece by piece. Plans Linuka thought were invisible had been seen. Anticipated. Neutralized. For the first time, Linuka understood the difference between having power—and wielding it.

A reality was chosen. Linuka stepped onto the palace floor barefoot, the stale air of the hall washing over her. The guards hesitated, confused, uncertain whom they served. The Assembly Member tried to shout, to command—but his will caught on itself. If a weak mind believes it is trapped, Linuka thought, then it is.

The guards fell silent as the forensics unit finished its pass. No accusations followed, no raised voices; only the soft hum of machinery and the weight of an oath remembered. Baaii Fij studied the results, then Cha Dzeeny, as if seeing both for the first time. Outside the transport, the city kept moving, unaware that loyalty had just shifted, and time was running out.