Two days later, night settled over the oligarch’s residence like a heavy curtain, quiet and suffocating. The city outside still moved, but inside Patrick’s private wing the silence felt deliberate, almost respectful. Evans pushed open the door to Patrick’s study and stepped inside slowly. The room smelled faintly of old wood, paper, and the sharp oil used to maintain the antique shelves. For a moment he simply stood there, staring at the large desk that had once belonged to a man powerful enough to hold an entire country together through fear and calculation.Evans slowly walked around the desk instead of sitting behind it. The chair remained pushed back slightly, exactly the way Patrick had left it before his final illness forced him into the wheelchair. For a brief moment Evans imagined Patrick sitting there again, fingers steepled, eyes half closed while listening to reports from ministers who were too afraid to lie to him.That chair had never been just furniture. It had been

The morning did not soften the council chamber.If anything, it made the place feel colder. Light poured in through the high windows and landed on polished wood, stone columns, and the elevated seat of the oligarch. But the warmth stopped there. The faces in the room were tight, impatient, and suspicious. Word had spread fast through the capital that Evans had called an emergency reconvening less than a day after being denied executive authority.That alone had offended them.Darius Longstaff sat in his usual place, one leg crossed over the other, his posture was easy, his expression almost amused. He looked like a man attending a performance he had already reviewed. Several council members leaned toward him in quiet conversation before Evans entered, then straightened at once when the main doors opened.Evans walked in alone.No convoy. No ceremonial guards. No dramatic show.Just him.His steps were measured, his shoulders squared, his face was calm in a way that made some of t

Darius’ hands shook against the polished floor.Sweat dripped from his face and spotted the wood beneath him. His breath came in short, broken pulls, and every attempt to lift himself higher failed under the invisible weight pressing down on his body.Evans stood over him, calm and still, his eyes fixed on the fallen senior councilman like he was waiting for the truth to finally stop hiding.“Speak clearly,” Evans said.Darius’ jaw clenched. “You… you cannot do this,” he forced out. “This is madness.”Evans did not blink. “Speak clearly,” he repeated.The chamber stayed frozen. No one dared move. The council members who had shouted minutes earlier now sat pale and rigid, afraid even of the sound of their own breathing. The lights overhead still flickered faintly, and loose papers trembled on desks like the room itself had become nervous.Darius swallowed hard. “I…” he said, then stopped as the pressure around him deepened by a fraction.Evans’ voice stayed low. “You called for law,”

The room felt too quiet after power.A week had passed since the council bowed, since Darius Longstaff was dragged away, since General Rovan saluted and the chamber finally accepted what Rovek had refused to accept at first. But victory had not brought peace. It had only changed the shape of the noise around Evans.That night, when he entered his private chamber, he closed the door with more care than force. The room was warm, softly lit, and free of politics for the first time that day. He loosened his collar, sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and let out a slow breath.Hannah was already there.She had been sitting near the window, waiting in silence. When she saw him sink onto the bed like a man carrying more than his own weight, she stood and walked toward him.“You look like the room tried to eat you,” she said.Evans looked up at her and managed the faintest smile. “It tried.”Hannah stopped in front of him and studied his face. “And yet you came back standing.”He reached f

Steel and light greeted Evans the moment he stepped into the primary military yard.The place was vast enough to feel like a city built for war. Armored carriers stood in long rows under floodlights. Artillery lines rested beyond them like sleeping beasts. Soldiers filled the open ground in clusters, some near vehicles, some near training markers, some standing still with their rifles slung across their backs. The moment Evans entered, movement slowed.Then stopped.No salute greeted him. No officer barked an order to attention. No one even pretended.They only stared.Evans walked forward with his escort at his back, his coat shifting lightly in the night air. He did not hurry. He did not look left or right too often. But he saw everything. The way the soldiers watched him with guarded hostility. The way some of them smirked. The way others seemed curious, as if they had heard stories and come to see whether the new oligarch was really made up of anything solid.One officer near