The storm had not yet lifted. The sky above the city was bruised violet, a thin rain whispering against the steel walls of the Black Court, the hidden hall where the powerful gathered under the guise of secrecy.
Inside, beneath the chandeliers shaped like skeletal wings, the atmosphere was sharper than any blade. The long table gleamed obsidian, and around it sat the bosses of syndicates that ruled the continent’s shadows. Some were crime lords, others high-ranking industrialists, and among them, at the far end, sat General Vasili Corven, a man with iron-gray hair and a gaze as cold as war itself.
Every conversation, every whisper, fell to silence when the double doors opened.
Veronica entered.
Her black dress was immaculate, her silver hair twisted in an elegant knot. There was nothin
