Jayden did not sit.
He stood in Charlotte's office long after the satellite feed of Franch had gone dark, his eyes fixed on the blank screen as though staring hard enough might reverse what had already happened. The destruction gnawed at him in a way he had not expected, not because he doubted the brutality of the Sovereign Protocols, but because it forced him to confront a question he had deliberately avoided for years.
If they did that to Franch, how long before they came for Nortasia.
The thought settled deep, heavy and uncomfortable.
Nortasia had been prepared. Overprepared, some would say. Fortified cities, layered defense grids, mech divisions refined and upgraded under Paula's direct supervision, soldiers trained not just to fight, but to adapt, to think, to survive. And yet Franch had fallen in hours.
Jayden's hands curled slowly into fists at his sides.
"How," he murmured, not looking at Charlotte, "did our allied forces not slow them down at all."
