The confirmation of state-level retaliation did not arrive via encrypted ticker tape or a formal declaration from the High Arbiters. It came as a sudden, massive drop in the atmospheric pressure of the regional shipping loops.
Elara stood at the central plotting table of the Southern Treasury's underground bunker, her hands resting flat against the cold slate surface. The space was lit by a single, flickering overhead gas lamp that threw deep, moving shadows across the unrolled topographical surveys of the southern coastline. She had traded her tailored suit jacket for a heavy, dark wool vest, her shirtsleeves pinned back with brass wire to keep them clear of the fresh indigo ink drying on the defensive allocation sheets.
