The boardroom was just as Anwyll had expected — sharp, cold, and suffocating.
The moment he stepped inside, seven pairs of scrutinizing eyes locked on him, their gazes heavy with mixed emotions.
He drew a steady breath and advanced toward the long table, shoulders squared, and posture stiff.
Never in a million years had he imagined standing in front of the rebel council, but because of the unusual circumstances surrounding their mission, an after-action review had been called.
What he hadn't expected was to face the entire council. Normally each member was scattered across Duskworn, occupied with their own operations. For all seven to be present at once? It was rare.
Anwyll saluted crisply.
General Denvil's voice was the first to cut through the air, cold as ever.
"You're late."
