The atmosphere inside Elena Marchand’s law firm was thick with tension, but also a sense of controlled triumph. The team had just faced a relentless media storm and had come out unscathed, steering the narrative in their favor.As they filed into the conference room, a heavy silence settled over them, the weight of the battle they were fighting evident on every face.Kerrigan and Conor took seats at the long table, flanked by Colonel Eli, Sorcha, Reilynn, and Parker. The Dragoons, ever watchful, stood positioned near the exits, their eyes sharp and their senses on high alert.Elena Marchand and Cara Johnson were already seated, reviewing notes and updates from the press briefing.Sorcha, who had been standing near the window, finally spoke up, breaking the silence. Her voice was cautious, yet tinged with frustration. “I still don’t get it. Why didn’t we just name Kelan? Isn’t he the one pulling the strings? He’s the main focus, isn’t he?”Kerrigan glanced at Conor, then back to Sorcha
The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks filled the carriage as the team made their way to Jinstain. The journey provided a rare moment of respite from the whirlwind of strategy meetings, press briefings, and legal maneuvering that had defined their last few days.The luxurious train car, reserved for heads of state and top officials, was spacious and elegantly appointed, but the team occupied it like soldiers on a campaign, their weapons never far from reach.Sorcha sat by one of the wide windows, watching the rolling countryside blur by in shades of green and gold. Her mind, however, was not on the passing scenery. Instead, she found herself quietly observing her new teammates.She had been welcomed into this close-knit circle, but she still felt like the outsider looking in, trying to learn the rhythms of a dance that had been choreographed long before her arrival.She glanced across the aisle at Reilynn, who was sharpening her dagger with methodical precision. T
The train ride into Jinstain was a beautiful sight, the city’s skyline appearing on the horizon like jagged teeth rising from the sea. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the bustling metropolis.Autumn had touched the city gently; a cool breeze blew in from the ocean, but it was a far cry from the colder mountain winds of Velyki. The air was warm enough to remind them that summer had only recently departed.As the train pulled into the station, Conor and Kerrigan exchanged a knowing glance. They were in enemy territory now, navigating a province where Gregor Benedict’s influence reigned supreme. Jinstain was a city of power and secrets, and the Benedicts had their hands in both.The dragoons moved efficiently, escorting Conor, Kerrigan, and the team off the train and into waiting SUVs. Faolan padded silently at their side, her keen eyes darting around as she sniffed the air. Sorcha and Reilynn were immediately on high alert, scanning every shadow, every rooftop.“This place h
The team’s convoy wound through the outskirts of Jinstain, leaving the towering skyline behind as they ventured into the more rural part of the province. The roads became narrower, framed by dense clusters of trees that stood as sentinels against the creeping tide of urban development.The farther they traveled, the more Conor felt the tension in his shoulders ease. There was something liberating about the open spaces, the absence of towering buildings, and the subtle hum of city life.Parker guided the convoy toward Kerrigan’s Jinstain residence, a place she had called her own for only a few short months but had already come to cherish. The house was a stately old home, surrounded by lush greenery and nestled on ten sprawling acres of land that backed up to a vast, untouched forest.It had once belonged to a respected judge, an upstanding figure whose legacy was as much a part of the house as its walls and windows.“I never realized how much I missed this place,” Kerrigan said softly
The late afternoon sun bathed the grounds of Kerrigan’s Jinstain home in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that danced with the gentle sway of the trumpet vine blossoms.The vibrant flowers, still clinging to life in the early days of autumn, painted the landscape with bursts of red and orange. Hummingbirds flitted from bloom to bloom, their wings a blur of iridescent color, and the crisp air carried the faint scent of pine and earth.Kerrigan and Conor stepped away from the house, leaving behind the bustle of their team as they crossed the lawn. Conor had signaled to the Dragoons subtly, and one by one, they drifted toward the edges of the property, giving him and Kerrigan a moment of privacy.Reilynn and Sorcha stood a few yards away, Reilynn giving Sorcha a quick lesson on commands for Faolan, who bounded playfully through the grass, her ears perked up and tail wagging.“This place is stunning,” Conor said, taking in the surroundings. “I can see why you chose it.”Kerrigan
Kerrigan’s Jinstain home was usually a sanctuary, a place where she could momentarily forget the weight of her responsibilities and the dangers looming at every corner. But today, the estate was tainted by a fresh wound—a wound that had Kerrigan fuming and ready to take action.Sandra Banks had crossed a line.After spotting the missing DragonWood trees yesterday, Kerrigan wasted no time in calling Mr. Nuri. The ancient trees were protected under crown law, considered a national treasure of Golan, and symbolized a deep connection to the land and heritage.Cutting down even one was a severe crime, but five? This was more than a slight. It was a brazen act of disrespect—and likely a calculated power move, driven by Sandra’s connection to the Benedicts and her ambition to expand her property.The morning air was tense as the team gathered in Kerrigan’s living room. Mr. Nuri was seated at the large oak dining table, surrounded by stacks of law books and papers detailing property regulatio
Sandra Banks sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the city’s elite. The private dining room of Jinstain’s most exclusive country club was a lavish affair, complete with sparkling chandeliers and plush velvet chairs. It was a favorite haunt for the city’s most influential women—the wives, mothers, and daughters of power, the unseen architects of Jinstain’s social fabric.Seated beside Sandra was Cynthia Cochan, looking every bit the matriarch in her tailored cream suit, her fingers adorned with sparkling jewels that caught the afternoon light.Her daughter, Jessica Cochan, sat next to her, radiating an air of detached elegance. The conversation flowed freely, a blend of gossip, veiled insults, and thinly disguised power plays that filled the room with an undercurrent of competition.Sandra watched the interaction with satisfaction. These lunches were about more than socializing; they were about reinforcing alliances, gauging weaknesses, and planning the next move. Today, her fo
Sandra Banks sat at the head of the table, watching the ladies around her chat and laugh. The light filtering through the windows of the upscale restaurant gave everything a warm glow, but it did little to ease the simmering frustration that had been gnawing at her all afternoon.Jessica Cochan had excused herself to take a call, leaving Sandra with Cynthia and the others, but Sandra’s mind was elsewhere.Cynthia’s earlier comment about receiving a new backer for their failing mall echoed in her ears. It didn’t sit right. Sandra knew the financial scene in Jinstain better than anyone.The Banks family ran Jinstain Bank and Trust, the city's largest financial institution, and if Cynthia’s family was struggling, it would have been Nyman who would’ve told her about any new deals. But there had been no mention of a new backer or loan.Sandra excused herself and took out her phone and dialed Nyman. He picked up after the third ring, sounding slightly annoyed.“Mom, I’m busy,” Nyman said, h