The formal judicial hearing was locked for precisely two o’clock on Friday afternoon.
Five days of mandatory administrative notice, executed in strict accordance with Section 7 of the Regional Protocol. Beta Brennan’s dispatch had been flawlessly prepared. Sera had verified every technical clause against the ancient legal codices she had smuggled from Thornfield’s sub-level archive.
She packed a single, matte-black travel case.
Corvin remained anchored in the doorway of Sera’s quarters, watching her fold her garments with a heavy, unreadable silence. Corvin waited so long to speak that Sera knew the words had been weighed to the gram.
"You are returning to that stronghold looking entirely different than you did when you left," Corvin noted, her voice flat.
"Yes." Sera slipped the cris
