The heavy oak doors of the Grand Hall didn't just slam; the sound reverberated through the stone floor, vibrating straight through the soles of Elara's shoes. The sudden drop in air pressure made her ears pop. Silence followed, absolute and suffocating, swallowing the remnants of the coronation fanfare.
Beside her, Julian didn't flinch. His hand stayed firmly wrapped around hers, his grip tight enough to leave a mark. The boy who used to tremble at the mere mention of his father's wrath was gone. In his place stood a man whose jaw was set in a hard, uncompromising line.
"The perimeter firewalls are down," Elara whispered, her eyes tracking the tiny, erratic pulse of red light blinking on the silver pin pinned to Julian's lapel. It wasn't a piece of jewelry; it was a localized receiver, and right now, it was bleeding an encrypted frequency. "Vaughn didn't just target the treasury. He's intercepting the physical infrastructure of the palace."
