Chapter 383

JEROME

I stared at the map spread across my makeshift war table, my hands clenched so tightly my knuckles had gone white. Red markers indicated territories that had withdrawn support from Xenois's coalition. Blue markers showed those still allied with the progressive movement. And black markers—far too many black markers—represented my own forces, scattered and demoralized after the Blackwood rescue disaster.

We were losing.

Not just the battle for regional control, but the narrative itself. And in supernatural politics, narrative was everything.

"They're calling us cowards," Marcus—one of my remaining loyal nightwalkers—said from across the room. His voice carried bitter frustration. "Saying we couldn't even hold two elderly...