Elena’s POV

The following morning, the knock on my door was softer than I expected.

When I opened my eyes, I found two Council investigators standing at the edge of my bed, their expressions carved from stone. Between them rested a slim folder. I titled my head and looked at it.

“The treaty,” one said. His voice carried no warmth, no malice—just indifference.

They set the folder on my lap, the papers fanning open, the black ink glaring against the white. My signature was all that ...