"Enemies do not always raise banners; sometimes they poison the hands that heal."
The last vestiges of Lord Ostel's fearful scent had been scrubbed from the air, replaced by the crisp, demanding scent of absolute military control. The brief, necessary emotional release of confronting Ostel was over, and the time for soft diplomacy was dead. I had immediately executed Vayne's three directives: Marcus was already coordinating the enhanced security around Elias's private chambers, pulling only the most stoic, physically stable Betas. I had sent a curt, coded message to Rell and Gavriel, cutting them loose from Silas's direct reporting chain, granting them the perilous autonomy to fight the Genesis Mage's ghost with the sheer, unbridled force of their Beta bond.
