The screen blinked once, the cursor hovering over a line of text that felt like a knife he'd left buried too long.
A bulletin he had written years ago, back when Dominie was only a shadow's whisper in the Empire's undercurrent, sat there, unfinished but sharp enough to cut everything it touched.
Subject: Lenora Abalone—confirmed contact with Crown Prince Olivier.
Status: high‑risk. Targeted surveillance engaged. Intercepts suggest planned removal of the Lyon heir.
Recommendation: extraction or elimination before her access compromises imperial security.
Gabriel's knuckles tightened on the keys. He remembered every second of the night he found the proof, how the lanterns in the archive room burned low, how his hands had trembled not from fear but from fury. He remembered staring at the file for hours, rehearsing the message, and picturing Damian's reaction if he sent it.
And then the hesitation had taken root.
'He won't believe me.
She's his chosen mate, his shield.
