We touched down at Silver Moon Tower three days later.
The city hadn’t changed. Still a loud, suffocating grid of glass, steel, and exhaust fumes. But the claustrophobia was gone. The skyline used to feel like a concrete cage. Now? It was just my operating table.
Selene was waiting by the private elevators in the lobby. She’d been running the empire while I was playing action hero in Europe, and the stress showed in the micro-tension around her jaw. She gave me her usual visual sweep—checking for bullet holes or bite marks—before dropping back into total professional detachment.
"Switzerland?" she asked.
"Dorian handed over the black-book journals. And this." I pulled Gideon Cross’s heavily creased letter from my jacket and shoved it into her hand. "The third Origin Chamber isn't lost.
