POV: Jake

Peace never arrives quietly, It kicks in doors and demands structure.

“This silence is wrong,” Ryker says under his breath. “Rooms like this only go quiet when people are sharpening ideas.”

“They’re already sharpening knives,” I reply. “Ideas come later.”

Across the council table, chairs scrape softly, papers shift. Nobody meets anyone else’s eyes for too long.

The air in the chamber feels thick, heavy with the scent of old parchment and fresh sweat.

These people ...