The corridor leading to Bianca’s apartments had always been the warmest wing of the Alpha House. When they were children she lined the hall with flower boxes and begged him to practice sword drills somewhere else so the vibrations wouldn’t bruise her lilies. In winter she kept braziers lit day and night, filling the stone passageway with a faint perfume of rose oil and citrus peel. Tonight, walking those familiar paces with the packet of evidence clamped in his fist, Markus felt none of that warmth. His boots struck marble like a judge’s gavel, echoing off vaulted ceilings, each step stripping another memory of its color until all that remained was the hollow sound of betrayal.
Two guards flanked Bianca’s door. They straightened the moment he approached, eyes darting to the crimson s
