Chapter 67: The Disgusted Sovereign
The steady sixty-hertz hum of the environmental control plant vibrated through the console table, maintaining the command hub at an even seventy-two degrees while sixty feet above, the polar vortex tore through the coastal avenue. Rowan Mercer sat back in the leather operator seat, his bare forearms resting casually on the armrests, his eyes fixed on the primary sixty-five-inch center display. The optical feed from the perimeter gate camera was rendered in ultra-high-definition clarity, leaving no shadow, no fold of fabric, and no physical reaction unrecorded.
On the screen, Nerida stood shivering in the center of the illuminated driveway apron, framed against the raging whiteout of Blackwood Crest.
The image was so sharp he could trace the tiny goose
