The sun hung high and unforgiving in the afternoon sky as Verania and Sylvithra stepped into the shadowed halls of the Imperial Treasury Department.
Their presence was felt long before it was seen.
Guards, clerks, and officials stiffened at the distant sound of sharp heels clicking against marble, their conversations dying mid-sentence. The temperature in the hallways seemed to drop several degrees, as if the very walls recognized the danger approaching.
The Empresses were in a mood.
The kind of mood that usually ended in blood.
Verania walked ahead, her stride loose and predatory, golden eyes glinting with barely restrained amusement. She was dressed in black combat trousers and a fitted crimson tunic, a short sword strapped casually to her side a clear, silent warning to anyone with half a brain.
