The attack came at midnight, when the city was sleeping.
Michael was in his study, reviewing reports from the Alliance about the aftermath of the Obsidian Circle's defeat. The continent was finally at peace—or so he had believed. The explosion shattered the silence, throwing him from his chair and sending papers flying across the room.
He ran to the window. Smoke was rising from the western quarter, where the new market district was still under construction. Flames licked at the sky, and the sounds of screaming echoed through the streets.
Mira burst through the door, her face pale. "They've hit the western quarter. Multiple explosions. We don't know how many casualties."
"Who?"
"We don't know yet. But they left a message." She handed him a piece of paper, the words scrawled in blood.
