Behind Lune d'Or, the air felt heavier than usual, thick with tension and the faint scent of polished stone and night-blooming flowers. Yvienna paced back and forth, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Every step of her heels echoed sharply against the pavement, a steady, impatient rhythm.
Her brow arched beneath her dark shades—though even the tinted lenses failed to soften the sharpness of her gaze. In front of her stood the Chief of Security, his shoulders squared, chest puffed out in a futile attempt to look composed. Still, the intimidation seeped through him like sweat through fabric.
He dared to glance at her, then quickly looked away. He had no idea why she had summoned him—and that ignorance terrified him.
Yvienna stopped abruptly.
The sudden silence was louder than her footsteps.
