MYRON
A thought flickers through my mind, sharp and intoxicating, much like the wine I sip from my crystal glass. I let the deep, rich flavor settle on my tongue before swallowing, savoring the power in the simple act. Power is a delicate thing—most people fumble with it, grasp at it desperately. I shape it. Mold it. Own it.
Then my phone buzzes, slicing through the silence of my office. I don’t flinch. Instead, I lower my glass, my gaze shifting to the screen.
DARIUS.
A slow, knowing smile creeps onto my lips. Right on time.
I let it ring once more before answering, keeping my tone measured. “Darius.”
There’s a beat of silence, followed by the steady, unshaken voice of Elder Darius. “It’s done.”
I exhale slowly, swirling my wine in thought. “Good.”
Noise hums in the background. A
