The Osei Trust hearing room was all dark wood and institutional gravity — five board members, two opposing legal teams, a mediator from the Riverton Trade Authority.
Naomi wore black. Not mourning-black. Power-black. She'd chosen it herself, at five in the morning, standing in her wardrobe with her jaw set.
Voss's legal team was present. She hadn't expected to actually see him, but he was there — Aldric Voss, seated in the observation gallery with the stillness of someone who had attended many rooms like this and left all of them victorious.
He was older than the photograph. Silver-haired, straight-backed, with hands folded in his lap and eyes like chips of cold quartz. He looked at Naomi when she entered.
She looked back.
She did not look away first.
Damian noticed. From beside her,
