Thomas.
The heavy oak table in the center of the war room was covered in tactical maps, satellite thermal prints, and discarded espresso cups. The warm lighting did nothing to soften the stifling, tense silence in the room.
I leaned forward, both hands resting flat against the polished wood, staring down at the glowing digital map of the Ironclad territory.
"Say that again," I said, my voice dangerously calm, barely above a whisper.
My chief security officer, Marcus, swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his boots. He held a leather-bound briefing folder tightly against his chest, as if it could act as a shield between him and my temper.
"The intelligence team confirmed it an hour ago, Boss," Marcus said, his voice trembling slightly. "Bella's council trial was wrapped up before noon yesterday. It was completely closed-door, swift, and absolute. The elder council issued a full verdict of high treason."
