The Council chamber had emptied, but the oldest man remained seated.
The others had left in silence, each carrying the same uneasy realization: Valenridge was changing faster than any of them had predicted.
He stared at the map spread across the black stone table. Red pins marked political allies. Blue pins marked financial institutions. Black pins marked operations that had remained hidden for decades.
His fingers rested on a single black pin.
Blackstone Prison. He looked toward the shadows. "Summon him."
A man stepped forward.
"The prison contact?" The old man nodded once. "It's time." The messenger hesitated.
"Dorian still refuses to cooperate."
A faint smile crossed the old man's face.
"Everyone cooperates eventually."
The smile disappeared.
"Some simply require... encouragement."
Nearly two hundred kilometers away, dawn crept slowly across the walls of Blackstone Maximum Security Prison. The prison had existed longer than the Republic itself.
