Zara didn’t mean to spy.She’d only followed the scent—clean, sharp pine and something darker, something wild. Maxim had brushed past her office without a word, jaw tense, eyes stormy, suit jacket flung over his shoulder like a man preparing for war.Curiosity, that old beast, led her down the glass corridor. Past the assistant’s desk. Past the private stairwell. Down to the sublevel only partners used.It was colder down here. Like something slept in the walls. The hum of the building changed—lower, older, like bones groaning under stone.She pressed her back to the marble, peeking just enough to see through the cracked door.Inside the chamber—bare stone walls, flickering candlelight, a round table that looked older than the city itself.Maxim stood at its center, surrounded by men and women who did not feel like lawyers.They felt like predators.One man had silver claws instead of hands. Another woman wore ceremonial robes laced with rune-stitched thread. Their eyes glowed—red, go
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