DRAKENFELL — EASTERN FOREST CLEARING, DUSK
Bellatrix Drakenfell did not merely prepare for a pack run. She art-directed one like a goddamn professional, running a seduction op with the tactical precision of a siege and the emotional detachment of an assassin.
The moon had been doing its job for millennia. Tonight, it reported to Bellatrix, and right now, the moon was wrong.
She stood at the edge of the eastern clearing with her arms crossed, her chin tilted upward, and her expression communicating irritation.
"It is too far left, Petra."
Petra looked at the moon. Then at Bellatrix. Then at the moon again, because her employer had just critiqued the orbital position of a celestial body and Petra needed a second to determine whether she was expected to fix it.
"Your Grace, the moon's position is determined by—"
