Nyxen saw it—the flicker beneath Riven’s composure. The breath that hitched. The way his body braced, instincts coiled against Rowen’s pheromone surge. Riven was stronger. Higher-class. But the weight of their history pressed harder than blood ever should.
He was holding. Barely.
Nyxen’s voice dropped into command, low and absolute.
“Seren.”
“Yes, Emperor,” the AI answered, its tone smooth as glass.
“Activate NPSP. Level Three Suppression.”
No motion. No gesture. He ruled the tower with a whisper. The defense grid had been lowered on purpose—bait for Rowen’s inevitable tantrum. And now, with a word, Nyxen tightened the leash.
“Level Three engaged,” Seren confirmed. “Dominant pheromone signatures neutralized. Aggression nullified. Order restored.”
The effect rippled through the hall
