The Imperial Mountain compound was a masterclass in psychological intimidation.
There were no visible security cameras, no barbed wire, and no heavily armed patrols pacing the grounds. Instead, the intimidation came from the sheer, overwhelming silence and the flawless preservation of history. The stone pathways were swept clean of every fallen leaf. The air under my shoes was cold and damp, each flagstone releasing a faint mineral smell, like wet granite that had been sitting in shade for centuries. My dress shoes made a soft, muted _scuff_ with every step, too loud in the quiet.
