The Sovereign Wing always felt colder at night.
Despite the unchanging climate systems, Elias felt the building's secrets in the walls. Footsteps echoed down the dim corridor, past presidential portraits. None of them had confronted a home invader.
None had been hunted.
The Crescent Office waited at the far end, its windows curving over Auren City. The capital was still limping back to life, lights stuttering across districts recovering from the blackout. Rowan Beckett stood silhouetted against the glass — medals catching faint glimmers as if they were remembering brighter days.
He didn't turn when Elias stepped in.
"You're late," Beckett said.
"Briefing ran long," Elias replied, closing the door behind him. Shield Corps sealed it with a click. "Treasury confirmed the freeze. Viper's offshore lines are tightening."
Beckett snorted. "You can't starve a snake while it's already biting."
Elias moved behind the Resolute Table. Beckett's presence made the room feel smaller, as if he took oxygen with him.
"I didn't call you here to fight old wars."
"You never do," Beckett said, finally turning. "But somehow we end up back in the same trench."
Their eyes locked — loyalty and resentment tangled together from years of service, years of politics, years of nearly dying beside each other.
"Let's speak plainly," Elias said. "Cascadia is destabilizing. Viper's in our communication streams. The legislature is screaming for a Vice President within forty-eight hours. And you—"
"—are the only person you trust," Beckett finished, stepping closer. "Say it."
Elias didn't blink. "Yes."
Something shifted in Beckett, subtle but heavy — like a door opening.
"It's not an honorary position," Elias continued. "The VP holds wartime authority. Continuity command. And if something happens to me—"
"It won't."
Elias raised a brow. "We both know that's wishful thinking."
Beckett's jaw tightened.
"I've served three presidents," the Admiral said. "I watched one break, one bow, one cash out his morals like spare change. You're not them. But if I take this seat? I'm not your ornament. I won't smile for cameras and warm empty chairs."
"I'm not asking for an ornament."
"Good," Beckett said. "Because I have conditions."
Elias exhaled through his nose. "Of course you do."
"Full autonomy over Defense Command," Beckett said. "Direct lines from intelligence. Operational freedom for the Navy and DID. If I'm taking the battlefield, I'm actually taking it."
"That's not how our government works."
"That's how it must work if you want to stay breathing."
Elias stepped forward. "You're asking for power equal to the presidency."
"I'm asking for enough power to protect you," Beckett snapped. "And your children."
Elias froze.
Beckett lowered his voice. "I know what happened yesterday. I know someone breached the Guardian Wing vents. I know Shield Corps found residue in the ducts."
"That information is sealed."
"You forget who trained half your agents."
Elias inhaled slowly. "I'm hesitating because this republic wasn't built to hand a general the keys to the kingdom."
"Then rebuild it."
The words hung there, dangerous and tempting.
"Rowan," Elias said quietly. "If I give you autonomy, I need your word you won't turn Cascadia into a militarized zone. The legislature is panicking. Half my cabinet wants to negotiate with Viper; the other half wants to surrender to fear. I need balance."
"And I need clarity," Beckett said. "War doesn't wait for committees."
Elias braced his hands against the table. "You once told me honor means knowing when to stop fighting."
A ghost of a smile. "And you once told me leaders who fear their own power shouldn't lead."
The line hit like a blade.
Silence settled — not heavy, but decisive.
"If you choose me," Beckett said, "you choose war."
Elias looked out at the fractured capital. "If I choose anyone else, Viper gets their puppet."
"They don't want a puppet," Beckett said. "They want a corpse."
Elias didn't deny it.
— — —
Hours later, the Hall of State hummed with tension. Reporters filled the room; Shield Corps lined the walls with weapons hidden under formal jackets. Nadia stood beside Elias — composed, elegant, but her eyes were shadowed from the truths she confessed hours before.
Her hand brushed his, barely there.
A reminder: I'm here.
The countdown hit zero.
Elias stepped to the podium.
"My fellow citizens of Cascadia—"
The lights flickered. Once. Twice.
A low electrical hum crawled through the speakers.
He continued. "Tonight, I am announcing—"
The screen behind him distorted violently.
Lines of digital corruption slashed across the projection wall, and for a heartbeat the room went black. Gasps rippled through the hall.
Then a symbol appeared on the wall — writhing, serpentine, unmistakable.
The Viper sigil.
A synthetic voice echoed overhead:
"Wrong choice, Mr. President."
Chaos detonated.
Ministers shouted. Reporters scrambled. Shield Corps surged forward, forming a perimeter. Nadia stepped closer to Elias, her hand instinctively near her concealed weapon.
Beckett appeared beside him, calm in the chaos.
"This is your war now," the Admiral said.
Elias didn't take his eyes off the sigil.
"No," he said. "It's ours."
— — —
Back in the Sovereign Wing, emergency lights washed the command center in red. Screens flickered with corrupted code like taunts. Orion Vale barked orders as teams worked to isolate the hijack channel.
Nadia appeared at Elias's side.
"They knew you were choosing Rowan," she said.
"That's impossible," Elias replied. "Only five people knew."
"Then you have a traitor among those five."
Beckett joined them, eyes fierce.
"This wasn't a warning," he said. "It was a declaration."
Elias nodded. "I know."
Beckett stepped closer. "Name me, Elias. Let me run this war."
Elias held his gaze. "You'll have autonomy. But you answer to me."
A faint nod. "Then we begin."
Nadia touched Elias's arm, voice low.
"There's something you're not considering."
"What?"
"If Viper doesn't want Rowan," she whispered, "it's not because he's too dangerous."
Elias frowned. "Then why?"
"Because he's the one man they can't predict."
A cold realization slid into Elias's chest.
For the first time since Hoyt's assassination, he felt fear — not for himself, but for what Cascadia might become with Rowan Beckett one heartbeat away from the presidency.