The stench of scorched granite and burned blood rolled across the water in thick, greasy waves.
Sera Thorne stepped up to the railing, her leather armor spattered with damp river silt.
Beside her, Mina Vance wiped a streak of soot from her cheek, her cold eyes fixed on the distant streets of the capital.
“The array lines are wired directly into their dantians,” Mina said, pointing her finger at the glowing crimson gutters. “If we force a breach with brute strength, the spiritual feedback will snap their lifespans instantly.”
“Ten million bodies,” Sera said, her jaw tight. “The Emperor has turned his own capital into a dead-man switch. If anyone tries to batter down the palace gates, ten million innocent mortals pop like overripe melons.”
She turned her sharp amber gaze toward Kaelen, who was leaning against the cabin doorpost in his bathrobe.
“Young Master,” Sera asked, her voice dropping to a low, steady murmur. “How long do you need? How many hours before you can unravel that slaughterhouse without triggering the backlash?”
Kaelen lifted his right hand from his pocket and spread five fingers wide.
