The war room emptied after midnight, but Elena stayed seated, fingers curled loosely around a glass of untouched wine. The ancient chandelier above cast golden shadows on the polished wood table, but nothing could soften the darkness pooling in her thoughts.

Cristiano didn’t speak when he entered. He just walked behind her chair and rested his hands on her shoulders — grounding her. She leaned into his touch instinctively, eyes closing.

“You were brilliant tonight,” he said quietly. “They followed you.”

“They’re scared,” she whispered. “And they don’t know what I’ve really started.”

Cristiano moved in front of her and knelt, one knee on the marble floor. His hand cupped...