CHAPTER 100 — THE WEIGHT OF A NAME
The number itself carried weight.
One hundred.
Elena felt it the moment she woke, not as celebration, not as pride, but as gravity. Milestones were not meant to be admired in the middle of a war. They existed to remind you how far you had walked—and how impossible it was to turn back.
The estate was quiet in the early hours, the kind of quiet that settled after sustained tension, when even the walls seemed to be listening. Elena dressed without hurry, choosing a tailored black dress with clean lines and no ornament. Authority did not need decoration.
When she entered the breakfast room, Adrian was already there, standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear. He ended the call as soon as he saw her.
"It's started," he said.
Elena set her cup down untouched. "Which part?"
"The part where they stop pretending," Adrian replied.
