The day dawned clear, but within the walls of Polaris Tower, a storm was already brewing. The war room smelled of coffee, ink, and quiet anticipation. Screens flickered with scrolling numbers, financial reports, and encrypted communications, each one a weapon sharper than steel.
Zaria stood at the head of the table, not with the poise of a Luna meant to smile and nod, but with the command of a queen who had grown tired of chains. Her fitted black suit was sharp, her hair pulled into a high braid that gleamed under the overhead lights. There was nothing submissive about her anymore.
Clara was the first to speak, sliding a stack of papers across the polished surface. “Here. Drevon’s shell companies, the ones funneling funds into his fortress. Offshore accounts, hidden trusts, fake charitie
