The charcoal suit felt different tonight—not just expensive fabric against my enhanced skin, but armor for a battle already won. I adjusted the cufflinks Charlotte had given me, watching her reflection in the mirror. She applied lipstick with the precise, unhurried movements of someone who'd spent the day systematically dismantling her enemies on live television.
Twelve hours ago, we'd hovered between cautious optimism and outright dread. Now, we stood in the stunned silence of total victory. My mind still raced to comprehend the scale of what we'd accomplished.
This morning's press conference had been both glorious carnage and an unanticipated nightmare. I'd lingered at the back of the packed auditorium, watching Charlotte seize the podium like a queen reclaiming her throne. But within minutes, I was forced to flee like I'd stumbled into a goddamn zombie apocalypse.
