The Grand Hall of the Continental Spires was a marvel of architectural intimidation. Unlike the sleek glass of Sterling Tower, this space was carved from ancient obsidian and white marble, a temple dedicated to the absolute power of the Global Alpha Council. High above the city of Aethelgard, the air here was thin and carried the scent of rare orchids, expensive cognac, and the sharp, metallic tang of dozens of competing Alpha auras.
Astra stood at the threshold of the ballroom, her fingers digging into the crook of Dante’s arm. She wore a gown of iridescent lunar silk that seemed to breathe with her, shifting from deep violet to a blinding silver as she moved. The Sterling Diamonds at her throat felt heavier than usual, a reminder that tonight she wasn't just a woman or a sister; she was
