The first thing Aria learned about survival was that it never asked permission.It demanded payment.And it always collected when you least expected it.Dawn crept in through reinforced glass, pale and almost apologetic. Aria sat at the narrow table in the safe room, hands wrapped around a mug she hadn’t touched. The events of the night replayed with brutal clarity—the ambush, the woman’s smile, the darkness swallowing the room whole.She hated how calm she felt now.Calm meant acceptance.Across the room, Damian stood at the window, phone pressed to his ear, shoulders tense. He’d been like that since sunrise—fielding calls from people who suddenly remembered his name now that the empire was bleeding.“Yes,” he said sharply. “Freeze everything.”A pause.“No, I don’t care how long it takes.”He ended the call and exhaled slowly.“They’re circling,” he said without turning.Aria finally looked up. “Who?”“All of them,” Damian replied. “Regulators. Investors. Politicians who want to loo
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