Morning arrived beneath a sky buried in gray.
Snow still covered the capital in heavy layers of white, though the beauty of it no longer softened the atmosphere spreading across the empire. Beneath the polished calm of noble society, tension moved like cracks beneath frozen ice -- subtle, dangerous, waiting for the right pressure to split everything apart.
And at the center of those fractures stood House Valemont.
Servants rushed through the estate long before sunrise, preparing formal attire, sealing documents, and organizing the procession required for an appearance before the imperial council. The eastern wing had become especially tense after the announcement the previous night. Guards stationed outside the estate remained alert enough that even minor movements drew attention.
No one trusted the city anymore.
Not after the archive attacks.
Not after the messages written in blood.
