I exit with Ren close behind, her hand still resting near her weapon. The weight of being named team leader sits heavy on my shoulders, made worse by the withdrawal crawling under my skin.
House leaders peel off into corners, pulling their advisors into whispered conferences.
Jupiter’s delegation clusters near the eastern archway, Lord Castor at the centre like a general planning his next assault. His advisor and aides speak in urgent tones, gesturing sharply. I catch fragments: “…weakness in the Cardinals…” “…can’t even secure their own arena…” One scarred lieutenant shakes his head, disgust written across his face.
Mercury’s people gather under their blue-and-silver banners, Lady Tavia speaking rapidly to her communications specialists. Her hands move in dramatic gestures, outlining protocols. “Full encryption audit,” she says, voice tight with worry. “Every relay, every signal path.”
Uranus’s tech engineers are beamed in via a comms device on Commander Kaelix’s wrist, their voices crackling with outrage. “Someone stole prototype schematics,” one says, her face flushed. “This isn’t justtheft, it’s sabotage.”
The Cardinals remain at the doorway, speaking in hushed tones. Cardinal Benedict’s hand rests on Cardinal Maria’s arm, his grip tight enough to show white at the knuckles. She’s shaking her head, mouth moving rapidly in argument.
Ren watches them with an expression I’ve never seen on her before … the careful suspicion of a soldier who no longer trusts her superiors.
“Cyra!”
The voice cuts through the murmuring crowd, familiar and desperate.
I turn.
Astrid pushes her way through the lingering delegates, weaving between clusters of House aides who part reluctantly. She’s breathless, her dark hair escaping its usual braid, her eyes bright with worry. Her civilian clothes look out of place among all the House colours and formal robes.
“Cyra, thank the stars!” She reaches me and pulls me into a warm hug. “They wouldn’t let me into the Hall, I’ve been waiting out here not knowing what was happening?—”
We move out of the hug and I grip her hands before she can finish. The contact steadies something inside me that’s been rattling loose since the shadow closed over my mouth.
My sister. My anchor.
“You’re really okay?” Her brown eyes scan my face, my neck, searching for injuries. “When they told me there was an assassination attempt?—”
“I’m fine. Ren got there in time.”
Astrid’s shoulders drop with relief. She links her arm through mine, her grip tight. “We need to talk. Properly.”
As we walk through the emptying corridors, I see Zevran ahead, flanked by Mars guards. His eyes find mine across the distance.
For a heartbeat, I see the concern there – raw and unguarded.
Then, suddenly – Commander Nael steps into view beside him, and Zevran’s expression shutters completely.
He must have requested Commander Nael replace me as his advisor,I realize.
Zevran turns away without acknowledgment, his posture rigid, and continues his conversation as if I don’t exist. Commander Nael’s gaze finds me next. No warmth. No recognition of the weeks we spent in strategy meetings together. Just a long, cold look before he follows Zevran down the corridor.
“Mars politics,” Astrid murmurs, noticing. “He can’t be seen supporting you publicly. Not now.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She lowers her voice further. “Cyra, when the news broke – when they announced who you were – it hit Mars like a shockwave. The markets went quiet. People didn’t know what to do.” She pauses. “But it’s complicated. You healed half the district over the years. Liora did favours for families, never asked for payment. People remember that too.”
“So they’re…”
“Conflicted,” Astrid finishes. “Some are angry … but others are defending you, saying you’renotyour father. There were arguments in the streets. A vendor who you saved from blood poisoning got into a fistfight with someone who called you a traitor’s spawn.” She glances toward where Zevran disappeared. “It’s tearing communities apart. If Lord Zevran allies with you now, publicly, before his people decide how they feel? They’ll see it as him choosing sides against them. He can’t afford that division. Not now.”
I know she’s right. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.
“If I may,” Ren cuts in gently. “Your residential wing has been thoroughly swept and secured now, Lady Cyra. New locks, reinforced entry points. It might be better for you both to have your own space rather than…” She glances down the corridor. “The optics of staying in Lord Zevran’s quarters aren’t ideal.”
“She’s right,” Astrid says quietly. “You need separation. Political distance.”
