Miso reached the headquarters in silence, her footsteps echoing faintly along the dim hallway. She had walked these corridors thousands of times, always with confidence, always ready to report, always certain that her Leader would handle everything with that frightening, reassuring composure.
But tonight felt different.
The air inside the headquarters was heavy… as if the entire building itself sensed that something terrible was stirring beneath the surface.
She pushed open the office door quietly.
Then stopped.
Arora Winland — the woman who had stared down knife blades, challenged gangs twice her size, built an empire from ashes, ripped apart enemies who whispered her name wrong — was asleep.
Curled on the couch. Her knees tucked slightly. Her arm hanging loosely off the side. Her hair messy around her cheek.
Sleeping.
Defenseless.
