As the 7th Division advanced on the Blightroot estate, Wayla, the second chair, edged close to Rakel Voss, her voice low under the crimson dusk. "How do we fight?"
"What do you mean?"
"By now, they've taken the Blightroot family hostage. If we just storm in, they'll be caught up in the battle."
Rakel's brow furrowed, his green eyes darkening. He hadn't considered the hostages. "What do you suggest?"
...
After their brutal warning—heads rolling on marble, blood pooling like wine—the Brotherhood had dispersed, allowing servants and soldiers to their posts under watchful eyes. Family members, trembling like scolded children, returned to their quarters, each shadowed by a Brotherhood guard, their fused armor clinking ominously.
Raul Blight, an executive in charge of the production of the family's income generation.
