Victor Sinclair stood paralyzed, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. He had no moves left. In the rigid, vertical hierarchy of the Midlands Provincial Council, rank was a fortress, but patronage was a god. Ambrose Ward wasn't just a Grade II — Full Director; he was a man who moved with the Sovereign’s Blade—the personal trust of Governor Bell. If Victor continued to obstruct, a single "back-channel" report from Ambrose could see Victor sidelined or even sequestered for investigation before the week was out.
Ambrose watched the play of emotions across Victor’s face with a detached, clinical interest. He took no pleasure in "borrowing the tiger’s skin" to get his way. He knew that relying on the Governor's shadow made him look like a "princeling" to the old guard, a young man
