Prince Romani drove with surgical precision, his hands steady on the leather wheel, his gaze locked ahead as though the road itself was a puzzle only he could solve. For a few blissful miles, the velvet smoothness of the ride almost fooled me into calm, the silence after the packhouse chaos feeling like a sanctuary.
Then reality hit.
The skyline of Human Town was shrinking behind us, fading into a cluster of dying lights. We were heading north instead, toward the untouched forests and the glass‑and‑steel mansions of the elites, where secrets hid behind gates and shadows. My stomach twisted into a cold knot as the truth settled in: we were not going where I had expected.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I said with a rising panic I tried desperately to mask.
The Prince didn’t miss a beat.
