My wrists burned from the restraints as the Retrievers dragged me forward. The air in the Citadel was sterile, humming with unseen energy, like the whole place was alive and watching. The walls gleamed, impossibly smooth, stretching upward into an abyss of artificial light. There were no windows, no doors—just a void of machinery and control.
They hauled me through corridor after corridor until we reached the chamber.
The High Overseers were waiting.
Five figures, standing in a half-circle around an Henson podium. They weren’t like the Retrievers. They weren’t armored or armed. They didn’t need to be. They radiated power, their very presence warping the space around them, as if time bent to their will.
One of them stepped forward. Tall. Hollow-eyed. Dressed in the same seamless fabric
