AISLYNMorning does not rush me.

I move through it with measured intent, letting Redmoon wake around me while I observe the seams where order is still settling into its new shape. The den hums softly, footsteps on stone, murmured exchanges between guards, the faint scrape of chairs being drawn into place as councils prepare to convene. Everything appears functional. Efficient. Controlled.

Appearances have always been Redmoon’s greatest strength.

I dress without ceremony and braid my hair back, ...