The converted factory's main conference room had been transformed. The usual maps and monitors had been pushed aside, replaced by a long table surrounded by chairs—enough seats for representatives from every network that had a stake in the future. Rook stood at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the empty chairs, the weight of what he was about to attempt pressing down on him like something that had been waiting for this exact moment.
The summit had been his idea. A meeting of all the major players—Kruger, Petrov, Mikhail, Zara, Dimitri, Viktor—to hash out their differences and find a way forward. It was ambitious, possibly delusional, but Rook had run out of other options. The networks were fragmenting, the accusations were flying, and the old guard was waiting in the wings to step
