The throne room felt like a tomb.

King Aldric sat on his obsidian throne, eyes like chips of glacier ice as he surveyed the carnage we had brought before him. Lord Ashford and Marcus, still trapped in temporal stasis, floated like specimens in invisible jars. Evidence of treason. Proof of corruption.

And standing at the center of it all—me. Te omega who should not exist. Who knew things impossible to know. Who had somehow prevented a coup that no one else had detected.

"Explain," the King ...