22

Tyrant Luciano Zarkov “Governor Henry has paid the full tax.” Percy stood across from my desk, tablet in hand, posture rigid as always. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Blackthorn stretched beneath the night sky—quiet now, subdued after weeks of investigation and public panic. Good. Fear made territories easier to manage. “And the confiscated accounts?” I asked without looking up from the reports spread across my desk. “Transferred to the imperial treasury this morning.” “Properties?” “Seized.” I nodded once. Efficient. At least Percy remained useful. The office fell quiet again except for the soft ticking of the antique clock mounted above the fireplace. My fingers tapped once against the armrest before stilling. “Governor Henry remains incompetent,” I said eventually.