The kitchen did not fall silent when Cassian stepped forward. It inhaled.
The kind of breath a pack draws before something irreversible happens.
Mara had been lifted from the floor, her blood streaking across stone where her head had struck it. Two enforcers lay broken nearby, one clutching a ruined arm, the other gasping through a bruised throat. Servants pressed against the walls, trembling between fear and fascination.
The elders stood rigid. And Sable stood in the center of it all, shaking.
Her shoulder throbbed beneath fresh binding. Her ribs burned with every breath. Her hands were stained with Mara's blood, still warm, still real. She felt raw and exposed and furious enough to taste iron at the back of her throat.
Cassian stood behind her. Close. Too close.
"You will regret this display," the eldest elder said, voice tight but controlled. "You cannot keep dismantling structure because of a defective female."
