The Moon's Mercy: Throne of Ashes
And standing directly behind her, his arc-rifle reloaded with a fresh, pressurized cylinder of total-deletion fluid, was Lord Garrett.
The grey-haired Arbiter was bleeding from a dozen deep gashes across his face, his obsidian armor caked in ash, but his eyes carried the cold, bureaucratic finality of a man who would gladly erase the entire continent to protect the integrity of the High Council's ledger.
"The manuscript is closed, Princess," Garrett's voice cut through the psychic static, transmitted straight up the silver wires of the broken alignment. "The southern copy is initializing. Step into the gold stamps and let the file dissolve."
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