The board room back at the estate was stripped of its calmness and replaced by tension.
Outside, the storm winds battered the glass, but inside, there was silence.
The archival file retrieved from the port was no longer hidden; it was projected onto the central holographic array.
Valerius had returned to his post at the primary console.
The earlier friction of the port mission seemed to have evaporated, replaced by his characteristic cheerfulness—a defense mechanism that Adrian was beginning to recognize as a hallmark of the Black House inner circle.
He hummed a tuneless melody as his fingers danced across the interface, bringing the stolen data into focus.
"And... voilà," Valerius chirped, though his eyes remained sharp and predatory. "The lady of the hour left us a parting gift. Quite the storyteller, our Mildred."
The title of the file shimmered into existence at the top of the array. It wasn't as dramatic as Adrian had feared.
It was something far colder.
