JACOBI sat at the edge of his wide mahogany desk, one hand drumming rhythmically on the polished wood while the other gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. The screen glowed back at him, yet another unanswered call. Another attempt dead on arrival.

For days now, he had been staring at this same damned screen, waiting for the message bubble to flicker, for the soft ping of an incoming reply that never came. It didn’t matter whether he called, texted, or sent carefully coded emails, Queen Wilberforce had ghosted him like a common trick who had slipped his grip at dawn.

Carlson let out a sharp breath through...