Chapter 362: Mission Briefing
The maintenance level still smelled of scorched synth-marble and blood.
Troy didn’t wait for Kyle to wipe his mouth. Two of the royal guard dropped down through the hole in the floor, grabbed Kyle’s arms, and hauled him up. Not rough, but not gentle either.
"Enough." Troy said again, voice flat. "Both of you. Cleaning up. Now."
Koyuki stepped back, adjusting her torn coat with a sigh, the teal glow in her cuffs already dead. She didn’t look at Kyle. She didn’t need to. The point was made.
Kyle flexed his jaw, tasting copper. He wanted to keep going. But Troy’s word was law in this hall, and he knew better than to test it twice in one day.
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Two hours later. War Room, Royal Citadel
The long obsidian table gleamed under cold white light. Holograms of orbital scans and terrain maps hovered above it, rotating slowly.
Fourteen generals sat around it. No empty seats.
Commander Wheeler and Commander Ona. Both stood behind Troy at the head of the table. Wheeler, short and broad, arms crossed, scar running down his left cheek. Ona, Troy’s right hand, lean and sharp-eyed, orange hair pulled back tight. She hadn’t blinked since Kyle walked in.
Kyle stood off to the side, arms crossed, still in his torn jacket. His healing was fast, but the bruises hadn’t faded yet.
Troy sat down. The room went silent.