The first shot of the war was never going to sound like gunfire.
It arrived as silence.
A silence so abrupt it severed the estate's nervous system mid-breath. Screens froze. Comms dropped. The ambient hum of power, the low, reassuring thrum Dante had lived inside for most of his adult life, cut out as if someone had reached into the architecture and pinched a vital artery shut.
Darkness did not follow.
That was the unnerving part.
Emergency lights flickered on, bathing corridors in a dim amber glow designed to soothe rather than alarm. But Dante knew better. Systems that failed cleanly had been shut down intentionally.
"Internal override," someone breathed.
Dante was already moving.
"Seal the east wing," he ordered. "Manual locks only. No digital fallback."
"They've disabled biometric verification"
"I said manual."
His voice carried authority sharpened by clarity. This was not panic. This was recognition.
Cassian had crossed the line.
