Thoren
By the time I left the council chamber, the guard rulings still sat in me with the dull, metallic weight that always follows judgment. Even when justice feels necessary, it rarely feels clean. It settles instead as something heavier—something carried.
As I made my way through the corridor toward my office, however, my thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
To Brent.
The man had given me pieces before, enough to confirm that what we were dealing with extended far beyond isolated betrayal, but pieces were no longer enough. Not after Sabrina. Not after Hopkins. Not after Reddick had thrown an entirely different threat onto the board before dying in my office.
Too many threads had begun knotting together.
The scent-masking serum.
Embedded spies.
Purist ideology older than my reig
