Richard
By the time the pyre had cooled and Darius’s name was already being recast in rumor, I stood at the center of the great hall, flanked by council members who looked too tense to be soothed by ceremony. Cameras framed the back of the chamber, their lenses gleaming under the chandeliers like eyes waiting to record every misstep. Journalists, civilian liaisons, senior Pack officers, all waiting for confirmation that the worst had passed, that we were steady again.
I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket and stepped up to the podium, the wood worn smooth from decades of post-crisis addresses. Every time I stood here it felt heavier. The ghosts of previous speeches pressed into my shoulders.
“Yesterday,” I began, “justice was carried out under Old Law. A traitor was identified, detained, an
