The mahogany table in the Sterling War Room didn’t just hold holographic maps anymore; it held the weight of a world that wanted Astra dead. Dante stood at the head of the table, his knuckles whitening as he leaned over a transmission from the Global Alpha Council. Behind him, the glass walls of the penthouse showed a city in transition, the skeletal remains of the Sector walls being hauled away by heavy cranes, replaced by the first green patches of a budding park system.
Astra sat to his right, her tailored black suit a sharp contrast to the glowing silver crescent on her palm. She felt the "Destruction" energy humming under her skin, a low-frequency warning that the peace they had won in the Obsidian Mines was paper-thin.
"They’re calling it a 'Biological Breach,'" Dante growled, his
