The heavy oak doors of the private ministerial study clicked shut, sealing out the fading murmurs of the evening reception halls. I walked over to the sprawling ebony desk, my boots clicking softly against the dark slate floor, and unpinned the obsidian hairpin that had held my dark hair in place throughout the grueling day of plenary debates.
The first day of the Grandos continental summit had concluded without a single structural breach, yet the physical and mental toll of managing forty-two sovereign delegations was immense.
My personal comm-crystal rested in the center of the desk, dark and silent. But as I reached down to set my paperwork aside, a faint, rhythmic vibration pulsed against the polished wood.
I touched the activation rune. A low-intensity blue projection flickered to
