The secure video call came through at 2 AM Paris time, routed through seven proxy servers and encrypted with protocols that would take a government supercomputer weeks to crack.
Sarah Chen's face appeared on the screen, but she looked nothing like the composed intelligence coordinator who had briefed Seraphina through countless crises. Her hair hung in unwashed strands, dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her hands shook as she adjusted the camera.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you have every reason to kill me."
Seraphina sat in the Paris safe house's communication center, Luna sleeping against her chest in the modified carrier. Through their bond, she felt her daughter's alert attention—even in sleep, Luna was listening.
"Talk," Seraphina said simply.
"They have my daughter." The words came out in a rush, as if Sarah had been holding them back for months. "Emma. She's eight. They took her from her school in Geneva fourteen weeks ago."
