The glass panels of the DeLuca headquarters reflected the fading light of the afternoon. The city stretched below like a sprawling web of streets and buildings, some still scarred from the aftermath of the war. Elena stood at the massive window, her fingers pressed lightly against the cool glass. The scene before her was no longer one of opportunity or promise. It was one of victory, yes, but one tinged with the unmistakable marks of destruction.
Beneath the polished surfaces of the skyscraper, the world they had fought for was in ruins—fractured families, broken streets, and the ghostly echoes of lives that would never be the same. Their empire, their hard-won victory, was now a fragile thing. Elena’s heart twisted with the weight of what it had cost them—what it had cost *her*. The drea
