She was hidden because she was never meant to rule.
“Then it’s settled.” He raised his voice slightly. “Send word to every sector. Every safe house. Every corner crew. As of midnight tonight, the power vacuum is closed.”
It felt fragile. It felt temporary. It felt exactly like the beginning of something far more dangerous than war.
A woman appeared. Mid-thirties. Sharp jaw. The Broker’s eyes—cold and calculating, even in recording. She stood in a bare concrete room, hands bound in front of her, but her posture was anything but defeated.
And none of them even knew they were bleeding yet.
Jax stood at the head of the obsidian table, its surface scarred by decades of territorial disputes carved into the stone. Twelve chairs lined the sides. Only six were filled. The others sat empty—memorials to those who had fallen in the three weeks since the Broker’s assassination.
She was a weapon. One that Jax had just aimed at the heart of every family in the room.
Mira’s eye flickered. She nodded to a tech in the corner. The room’s central holo-emitter crackled to life.
He didn't smile. There would be time for that later. For now, he simply looked around the table at the faces of his enemies—now his council—and felt the weight settle onto his shoulders like a crown made of knives.
The only problem?
The Broker had no living heirs. Or so everyone believed.
She was hidden because she was never meant to rule.
“Then it’s settled.” He raised his voice slightly. “Send word to every sector. Every safe house. Every corner crew. As of midnight tonight, the power vacuum is closed.”
It felt fragile. It felt temporary. It felt exactly like the beginning of something far more dangerous than war.
A woman appeared. Mid-thirties. Sharp jaw. The Broker’s eyes—cold and calculating, even in recording. She stood in a bare concrete room, hands bound in front of her, but her posture was anything but defeated.
And none of them even knew they were bleeding yet.
Jax stood at the head of the obsidian table, its surface scarred by decades of territorial disputes carved into the stone. Twelve chairs lined the sides. Only six were filled. The others sat empty—memorials to those who had fallen in the three weeks since the Broker’s assassination.
She was a weapon. One that Jax had just aimed at the heart of every family in the room.
Mira’s eye flickered. She nodded to a tech in the corner. The room’s central holo-emitter crackled to life.
He didn't smile. There would be time for that later. For now, he simply looked around the table at the faces of his enemies—now his council—and felt the weight settle onto his shoulders like a crown made of knives.
The only problem?
The Broker had no living heirs. Or so everyone believed.
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