The cool morning air of Duskhaven City usually carried a hint of salt from the coast, but today, at the gates of Prymus Company, the atmosphere was thick with a different kind of tension. Dominic Mylod had just stepped out of the driver's seat, his hand resting lightly on the roof of the car as he watched Sienna Flynn prepare for her day. He was about to lean back in and offer a parting word of encouragement when the rhythmic crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of two black sedans. They skidded to a halt with a practiced, intimidating precision, boxing in Dominic’s vehicle.
Three men, clad in the starch-stiff uniforms of regional enforcement, stepped out. Their faces were set in masks of bureaucratic arrogance—the kind worn by men who believe the badge on their chest grants th
