Lyra stepped into Devandra’s office with unwavering confidence. The heavy glass door closed softly behind her, shutting out the noise of the bustling office outside. The room was luxurious yet tense; the scent of black coffee mingled with the paper smell of piled-up documents scattered across the wide desk. Devandra stood with his back to the window, staring out at the glittering Jakarta skyline, his face carved in stone, his eyes dark and brooding.

“Dev…” Lyra’s voice was soft, dripping with feigned sympathy. “You look tired.”

Devandra turned, the weight of exhaustion etched deep around his eyes. “How could I not be? Vania escaped, Arga is always at her side,...