The first day was a waking nightmare. The penthouse, once a symbol of their hard-won sanctuary, felt like a mausoleum. The silence was a physical weight, broken only by the hum of the climate control and Sasha’s occasional, muffled sobs from behind her closed door. Nora moved through the rooms like a ghost, touching the back of the sofa where Demetri used to sit, the cool marble of the bar where he would pour his scotch. Every object was a relic from a lost civilization.
Anya arrived, her face a carefully neutral mask, but her eyes held a deep, sympathetic sorrow. She brought updates, delivered in a hushed, funereal tone. The dismantling of the Perseus Group was proceeding with ruthless efficiency. The Volkov empire was secure, its foundations unshaken. The king was gone, but the kingdom
