The city woke to mist and murmurs.
By dawn, the streets outside the Ministry were lined with onlookers — clerks, journalists, wives of minor officials — all drawn by the promise of spectacle.
The fall of Christopher Cross had been a story for days; now, whispers spoke of its sequel.
A woman summoned to testify.
A former mistress of the Minister himself.
The air was thick with curiosity — and cruelty.
--
Inside the Emily's townhouse, Serena stood before the mirror, fastening the collar of her coat. Her reflection looked fragile, almost spectral — pale cheeks, blue eyes too bright from sleeplessness, and hair gathered with painful precision.
Emily sat nearby, watching her with unease. "You don't have to go alone."
"I do." Serena's voice was quiet, almost mechanical. "If I bring company, it makes me look afraid."
"You are afraid."
"Yes," she admitted. "But fear is useless once the wheels have turned."
Emily hesitated. "Will Charlton be there?"
