The neon lights of the High Rise District did not flicker, but they seemed to lose their warmth as the news of the Global Embargo settled over Aethelgard. In the high tech war room of Sterling Tower, the air was thick with the scent of charred cedar and the sharp, metallic tang of absolute tension. Dante Sterling stood before the main glass console, his broad shoulders tense beneath his dark dress shirt. The holographic projection before him bled a harsh crimson light, displaying a gridlock of shipping channels that had frozen across the borders. The billionaire Alphas of the external territories had finally sealed the gates, cutting off the vital energy shipments and synthetic components that kept the metropolis functioning.
Astra stood just half a step behind him, her boots planted firm
