Nero entered his private rooms already unbuttoning his cuffs.
The doors sealed behind him with a soft electronic click, carved wood hiding modern locks, scent filters, pressure sensors, and enough surveillance shielding to make half the continent paranoid. Saha liked beauty, but it trusted reinforced systems more.
Tonight, Nero appreciated that.
He crossed the outer sitting room without turning on the full lights, letting the city glow through the dark glass wall. Saha stretched beneath him in ribbons of gold and violet, traffic moving through the royal district like veins under skin.
His fingers reached the first button of his shirt.
Stopped.
Then continued.
One button.
Then another.
Controlled.
Perfectly controlled.
He was not spiraling. He was not shaking. He was not flooding the room with pheromones or breaking furniture or proving everyone right about what an enigma became when too much truth was pushed under his skin.
He was simply furious.
