ELENA
The summit was winding down.
The final signatures had been inked, ceremonial photos snapped. The halls of the venue were quieter now. Not empty—there were still guards, staff, a few straggling Alphas and their entourages—but the storm had passed.
Blood and scorching covered and erased with fresh paint and hastily scrubbed tiles, a reminder that the shield of peace was always paper-thin.
The revised treaty had been signed an hour ago. Everyone had clapped. Shaken hands. Toasted with crystal flutes and stiff smiles. But I’d watched the eyes behind those glasses. No one was relaxed. No one was fooled.
I wasn’t, either.
We’d survived the explosion. The rogue assault. The political scandal. For now. But none of it felt over. Not to me.
I lingered in the corridor outside the Moonst
