INDY
The war table had never looked so unforgiving.
Maps, letters, sealed statements, financial records, and sworn testimonies were spread across its vast oak surface.
My father stood at the head of the table, both hands braced against its edge. Age had not diminished him physically, but tonight he looked older than I had ever seen him.
Lucio stood to my right, silent for once. Soren lingered near the tall windows, arms crossed, gaze fixed not on the evidence but on me.
Genevieve and Archibald’s names were written across three separate confessions. Clara’s handwriting was unmistakable in two of the letters.
“I cannot believe this,” Lucio muttered under his breath. His voice echoed faintly in the cavernous chamber.
My eyes were locked on the detailed plan to assassinate my father
