KIRA

We sent a rider to the palace the night we returned.

By morning Mira knew her granddaughter was alive. By afternoon she had sent back sixteen pages of handwritten intelligence, dense and precise, the kind of detail that could only come from eight years of proximity to the operation she'd been feeding. Everything she'd held back while Petra's life hung over her. All of it, at once, the moment the leverage was gone.

I read it at the war room table while Dante and Marcus worked through the ...