POV: Ayla

The compound is quieter than it has been in weeks. No more urgent footsteps in the corridors. No more low voices planning the next move against a man who no longer holds any ground. The tribunal is finished. Dorian is gone. The sentence has been read and carried out. On paper, it is over.

I sit on the wide stone steps that lead down into the east garden and watch the late light move across the grass. The air smells of damp earth and the last of the summer roses. Somewhere behind me a door closes softly. I do not turn to look.

I thought the verdict would...