It happens at night, always at night.
Never when the council is gathered in their suffocating chambers, never with the weight of bureaucracy pressing in on her from every side. Not while she’s striding through checkpoint after checkpoint, her presence flanked by guards whose hands never stray far from their hilts. Not even in the hush of posturing negotiations, where everyone watches everyone, and no one dares to blink. She’s untouchable then, encased in layers of protocol and steel.
No, the attempt is patient. It lurks in the silence, biding its time until she’s alone—until the walls echo only her footsteps and the world seems to exhale, just for her.
Alessia is halfway through unbuckling her holster, fingers numb with fatigue, when she senses it—the air shifting, thickening with a chi
