“Draven will fail,” a soft, cold voice whispered across the council chamber.

Councilor Kaelith Veyra leaned back in her chair, hands folded with deliberate calm. Her eyes glimmered faintly in the lantern light, calculating, precise. To the rest of the council, she appeared composed, almost neutral. But behind that serene mask lay years of quiet resentment, masked by politeness and protocol.

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Teyr Lin said from across the chamber, leaning casually against ...