The emergency session of the UN Security Council was called for 6 AM New York time—a sure sign that someone wanted to avoid media attention.
Seraphina watched the live feed from Geneva's command center, one hand pressed to her lower back where a dull ache had been building since dawn. Seven months pregnant, and the baby seemed determined to remind her that diplomatic crises weren't ideal for gestational health.
"This doesn't look good," Marcus muttered, adjusting the encrypted feed. Around the horseshoe-shaped table in New York, fifteen faces wore expressions ranging from concern to barely concealed hostility.
"It's not supposed to look good," Damon said grimly, moving to stand behind his wife's chair. Through their enhanced bond, he felt her physical discomfort mixing with growing alarm. "Someone orchestrated this timing."
On screen, Secretary-General António Silva called the session to order. His usual diplomatic composure seemed strained.
