"The execution is complete, Lyra," Rafael said calmly into his earpiece, taking a step toward the window. "And I just found the keys to the entire city."
"Keys don't mean a thing if you get shot on the lawn!" Lyra's urgent voice barked over the radio link. "Three tactical steam-wagons just breached the north iron gate!"
"How many armed men?" Rafael asked, sliding the heavy black leather book inside his inner jacket pocket.
"At least twelve," Lyra reported, her tone sharp with anxiety. "They carry pressurized breaching rifles and iron masks. It's the councilor's private strike team!"
Rafael glanced down at the lifeless body of Judge Vance resting peacefully over the mahogany desk.
The magistrate looked as though he had simply drifted into a quiet sleep, his face calm and unmarred
