Marco Vitale had always believed that silence was the most efficient weapon a civilized man possessed.
It avoided escalation.
It preserved alliances.
It kept monsters where they belonged—
on the other side of negotiation tables instead of beneath them.
But silence, he was beginning to understand, had limits.
And tonight—
it had failed her.
The estate war room smelled faintly of old varnish and damp stone, as though memory itself had settled into the walls and refused to leave. Screens glowed along the far side of the chamber, feeding surveillance from the eastern boundary in clean, clinical frames that felt almost insulting in their calmness.
No chaos.
No blood.
Just trees.
Waiting.
Hmm.
Marco's jaw tightened.
Ridiculous.
Because waiting was never neutral in this world.
Waiting meant something had already begun.
Behind him, the heavy doors opened without ceremony.
