Victor pov
From the roofline, the city looked like a machine.
Victor lay low in shadow, wings folded tight, eyes scanning patterns the way he used to scan battlefields before the world ended. He didn't need to see the Supreme to know what kind of man ran this place. The streets were too clean. The patrol routes too disciplined. The barricades too deliberate.
A man like that didn't keep order by being kind, He kept it by being correct.
Victor tracked Felicity by feel as much as sight. Her presence sat in the back of his skull like a constant pulse, the quiet hum of power he didn't fully understand but could always sense. When she crossed the gate, the pulse didn't fade.
It sharpened, She was in. He didn't breathe out until she was past the first funnel lane.
The next part was the hardest part because it required him to do the one thing he hated more than fighting.
