James Evergreen stepped off his private jet, the wind tugging at his coat like invisible hands. Behind him, Artemis, Tyler, and Sterling followed in silence. They weren't just advisors—they were his armor.
Inside the limo, Sterling leaned forward, voice low and taut. "James, this is reckless. Addressing the miners directly? You're walking into a powder keg."
James swirled his rye, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. "There's no turning back now."
Sterling didn't reply. He just stared out the window, jaw clenched.
The crowd outside the legislative building was a living storm—fifty thousand strong, packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces hard with fury. The air buzzed with heat and resentment. Chants echoed off the stone walls like war drums.
James stepped onto the platform. The microphone hissed with static. Before he could speak, a man in a dust-covered blue shirt shouted, "You're a bastard! Raising taxes to feed the royal family!"
James raised a hand, his voice steady. "Intermarium's debt has soared. We borrowed heavily from Renee Clinton, ruler of Catwerp. It was necessary."
"Then we want a new ruler!" the man roared. The crowd erupted.
Sterling's eyes darted across the mass—too many faces, too much rage. Something was about to snap.
A bottle of Sangria flew through the air, spinning like a comet. Sterling lunged, shoving James to the wooden floor. The bottle shattered against Sterling's shoulder. He cried out, blood blooming across his arm.
"Sterling!" Artemis rushed to him, panic in his voice.
Sterling's face was pale; his sleeve soaked in red. Shards of glass glittered in his skin.
James scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. "We need to get him to a hospital—now!"
Security swarmed the stage. The crowd surged forward, screaming. Another bottle flew. Then a rock.
They fled, ducking behind the barricades as the roar of the people chased them like fire.