Killian adjusted the cuffs of his dark suit as he stepped out of the containment wing. The security lights along the marble corridor glowed a sterile white, reflecting off polished floors that looked too calm for the night the palace had just endured. The air still carried the faint echo of Dax's pheromones, suffocating spice, like static that refused to fade. Everyone felt it. Every guard, every servant, every breath of recycled air seemed afraid to move wrong.
Hanna Osler was inside the holding room. Restricted while no one was permitted to talk to her until Dax would be calm enough to do it. Quiet for once in her life.
He'd given the order himself: constant surveillance, biometric monitoring on loop, no external communications, and no physical access without clearance. The next time she saw daylight, it would be for interrogation.
Killian missed for a few days while helping Dax and the palace decided to become useless. Saying he was enraged would be an understatement.
