The doors of the council chamber slammed shut behind them.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The image of Rafael's father remained frozen on Noah's tablet—blood on his face, his wrists bound tightly to a metal chair, the dim warehouse behind him.
Rafael stood completely still.
His jaw was clenched.
His fists were trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
"They touched my father," he finally said.
His voice was dangerously quiet.
Noah looked at him carefully. "Rafael—"
"I said they touched my father."
Rafael turned toward the table and slammed his fist against it.
The sound echoed through the room.
"I don't care who they are. I don't care how powerful this Crown Council thinks it is. I'm going there."
He turned toward the door.
Aria stepped in front of him.
"Wait."
Rafael stopped.
His eyes met hers.
"Move, Aria."
"No."
His expression hardened.
"Aria."
"You're angry."
"Of course I'm angry!"
"And that's exactly what they want."
Rafael stared at her.
