(Romulus POV)
The letter waited for me before I entered the council chamber.
It lay at the center of the long obsidian table, untouched, red wax gleaming beneath filtered morning light. My seat stood at the head of the table as always, elevated slightly above the others—not by arrogance, but by design. Authority should never need to lean forward.
Raem stood to my right when I entered. He did not speak. He did not need to.
The councilors were already gathered.
Sharif Azmar folded his hands within his sleeves, his expression composed, watchful. Malik stood near the far wall, posture straight, the quiet weight of the Golden Army behind him. Several others—outer council members summoned for urgency—shifted subtly when I approached.
No one touched the letter.
Good.
They understood instinctively that this was not correspondence.
It was a move.
I took my seat.
"Read it," I said.
