The post-assembly reception in the private gardens of the Blackthorn estate was a performative affair of political posturing and hushed conversations. I slipped through the tall stone arches leading out to the terraced gardens, using the cool night air to clear

Midnight at the Blackthorn Citadel was a fortress of deep shadows and silent patrols. Beneath the primary administrative wings lay the Restricted Historical Archive—a subterranean vault carved directly into the bedrock, housing the original founding treaties and blood

The morning after my infiltration of the archive, the Blackthorn administrative wing was thrown into sudden, chaotic turmoil.

I sat quietly at a corner desk in the lower logistics office, reviewing shipping manifests on my tablet, when the security doors flew ope