POV RUBY
The air in the sub-basement was thick with the scent of ozone and chilled copper. Unlike the upper floors of the Wicklow manor, which felt like a Victorian dream, this space was a cathedral of cold, modern clinicality. Rows of black server towers hummed with a low-frequency vibration that rattled my teeth, their blinking violet lights mimicking the pulse of the Sovereign still nestled in the folds of my brain.
"The terminal is here," I whispered, pointing to a central console that rose from the floor like an altar of glass and steel.
Nevan stood behind me, his hand hovering over the grip of his sidearm. He was a predator in his natural habitat—dark, alert, and terrifyingly efficient. "Silas, watch the stairs. If Vane’s men so much as breathe on the gravel outside, I want to kno
