The elevator hummed low as it descended, lights flickering across the brushed steel walls. My pulse was steady until the doors slid open with a hiss, spilling me into the basement wardrobe.

  Not this again…

  After I got out of the wardrobe, the first thing I saw was my reflection in the wide mirror lining the wall. The navy dress clung in all the right places, the silver embroidery catching the light like frost. The skirt swayed with each step, expensive fabric whispering against my legs.

  Dress to impress, no question about it. I pouted at the mirror anyway, tugging at the hem as though I could will it into something less… bold.

  Behind me, Lola stepped out, holo in hand as if she’d been born holding one. She gave me a quick once-over, and her lips curved into a dangerously smug smile. “You look fabulous, Lady.”

  “Mm-hm,” I grumbled, staring myself down in the mirror. The dress practically radiated authority. It didn’t feel like me, but it felt like someone worth fearing.

  I let out a sigh, shoulders rising and falling.

  We started down the long underground hallway. The air here was cool, faintly metallic, tinged with recycled ventilation. Light strips glowed from the ceiling, reflecting off polished stone. People moved everywhere… staff, aides, operators carrying armfuls of files or speaking in hushed voices. As Lola and I passed, they made room, their eyes flicking down, shoulders dipping in shallow bows.

  Respect, maybe. Hopefully. “I’ll…” I forced a smile, teeth clenched so tight it probably looked like a grimace. “I’ll kill Lucas. My reputation is poor again!”

  Lola didn’t even miss a beat. “Saevrin would judge you harshly for killing,” she replied lightly. I shot her a glare. She squeaked softly, ducked her head, and immediately hid behind the cover of her holo. At the end of the hallway, just before the heavy doors that led into the aula, a man waited.

  He wasn’t in professional casual like the rest.

  Instead, he wore simple Eastern monk attire: loose linen robes in muted earth tones, tied at the waist with a woven sash. His head full of hair broke the monk image, but only slightly, because he held his posture effortlessly upright.

  He folded his hands together and inclined his head toward me.

  “Queen, may I have a word?” the monk-dressed man said. “It is about the upcoming battle.”

  I glanced at Lola. She flicked her wrist, and for a second my brain short-circuited. Since when did she wear a gold watch? Not just gold… thin, elegant, gleaming like it belonged on the cover of some luxury catalog. She didn’t even notice me gawking.

  “Lady,” she said, eyes narrowing on the dial, “we start… soon.”

  I turned back to the man. His stillness was unsettling, like the rest of the hallway’s chaos bounced right off him. So I asked, “Is it quick?”

  He nodded and then cast his eyes around. Staff rushed past, aides juggling holo-screens, whispers echoing as more people pressed toward the aula. He lowered his voice. “Can we talk in… more private?”

  I sighed and raised an eyebrow at Lola. She motioned briskly toward an office across the hall, just opposite the aula doors. “Here. But, Lady, please… fast.”

  Jerry buzzed faintly on my wrist as I brushed the door panel.

  The lock clicked, the office opening with a hiss. Inside was as uninspired as a dentist’s waiting room… one table, ten chairs, bare walls, no windows. Well, of course; we were deep underground.

  The monk closed the door gently behind us, his robes swishing against the floor. He clasped his hands and spoke plainly. “As I see you lack time, I will be direct. I have received information that you have two-timers in your army.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Two timers? For a second, my mind leapt to traitors, saboteurs, bombs ticking in the ranks.

  I blinked and turned to Lola, hoping for clarity, but she was already absorbed in her holo, fingers dancing across the interface, clearly not listening. “And you are…?” I asked, suspicion in my tone. “I mean, you’re not our spymaster, so sorry if I don’t trust you fully.”

  He bowed at the waist, every inch deliberate. “Sorry, my bad. People call me Poundcake.”

  I stared. Flat. “…Poundcake?”

  With perfect seriousness, he nodded. I swivelled to Lola, silently demanding context. Without looking up from her holo, she answered absently, “Got it. Poundcake. Ex-military. Now…” She hesitated, her lips pressing together. “Baker?”

  The corner of his mouth curved into a wry smile. “I found peace in the art.”

  The silence stretched. My brain refused to reconcile the bearer of traitors with a… Poundcake, the monk baker. I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple. “This day keeps getting weirder. Who is it? Can I kick them in the butt before they betray me? Is it Ian again?”

  Poundcake shook his head slowly, the faint movement tugging my attention back to his face. He wasn’t just some anonymous ascetic after all… forties, maybe, with the kind of weathered features that told a life of both discipline and hardship.

  A thin scar traced just beneath his chin, disappearing under the collar of his robe, a souvenir from some old battlefield. Yet his expression was utterly serene, as if nothing in this world could rattle him… not my suspicious questions, not the chaos humming beyond the door.

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  “My friends at Nathanco couldn’t say,” he murmured. “But your operation wasn’t subtle. You announced your plan to everyone willing to listen. I wouldn’t be surprised if the grandmasters of Altandai already knew about it.”

  That landed like a punch to the gut. A flicker of heat crawled up my neck, but before I could reply, Lola tugged at my sleeve hard enough to jolt me. “We need to go,” she pressed, her gold watch glinting as she gestured toward the hall. “It’s starting.”

  I forced myself into composure, then bowed slightly to Poundcake. “I’ll try to do something about it.”

  He smiled gently, eyes closing in that maddeningly peaceful way. “I place the dough in the oven; whether it rises is not mine to decide.”

  I groaned. “You’re like Kai, master of Ian.”

  Poundcake’s eyes opened again, and for the first time, there was a spark… recognition, or maybe curiosity. “You know Master Kai?”

  “Yes,” I said, already half-dragged by Lola’s grip. She had abandoned subtle nudges; now she was outright hauling me toward the door. “Wanna meet him?”

  The monk chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The oven waits, the dough waits; only time decides the loaf.”

  Another groan escaped me, because of course he was going to keep at it. Philosophical monk bakers, just what I needed on top of everything else.

  Lola yanked harder, and I let her.

  The doors to the aula opened, and the world shifted. Hundreds of people filled the seating and tables… a living wall of expectation.

  And the moment I stepped through the door, silence crashed down.

  Every eye snapped to me as if pulled by the same invisible thread. The weight of it pressed down on my shoulders, hot and cold all at once. My dress brushed against the floor as I walked, the embroidery catching the light in tiny flashes. The sound of my own footsteps echoed, clicking loudly.

  Damn, I’m suddenly nervous.

  Lola kept her hand firm on my sleeve, guiding me with certainty down the central aisle between tables. I caught the glances as we passed, but all bowed their heads slightly when my gaze flicked toward them. Well, I give them paychecks; I guess?

  At the front of the aula, a small table with a microphone waited for me. I inhaled, forcing steel into my spine, and let myself be pulled into the spotlight. “Okay,” I said, hands flat on the cool table, voice carrying across the aula.

  “So tomorrow we strike and take the city.”

  No preamble. No flowery speech. Just straight into the gut of it. My pulse thudded steadily now, the silence in the room thick enough that my words seemed to land with weight.

  “You all should know the plan,” I continued, letting my gaze sweep over the crowd. Rows upon rows of faces reflected back at me in the overhead lights… wide eyes, tense jaws, too many bodies crammed into this underground hall. Their breaths mingled into one heavy rhythm. “Lucy and Llama made sure of that.”

  That cracked the silence.

  A burst of laughter broke through, rolling across the benches like a wave. Lucy, planted right in the first row in her ridiculous pirate getup even on Earth, pouted so hard her lower lip could’ve tripped someone. She shot to her feet and jabbed a finger at me.

  “It was all Llama!” she yelled.

  The laughter doubled, bouncing off the steel beams overhead. Even Lola smirked faintly over her holo, though she tried to hide it behind a hand.

  “Okay, okay!” I raised both hands, palms out, the embroidery on my cuffs glinting under the spotlights. The room settled into a chorus of chuckles and coughs, eyes turning back toward me. “Main plan, focus up.”

  I tapped the table once for emphasis. “The main force moves on the Binding Stone. Everything else? It doesn’t matter if we lose it. The Stone is the hinge. If it falls, the city follows. If we lose the battle there, then we might as well pack up and go home.”

  The weight of that pressed down over the room. Heads nodded, a ripple of grim understanding traveling through the benches.

  “So if you’re there with me tomorrow,” I said, lifting one hand into the air, “let’s say it all together, eh?”

  For a moment, silence… then the scrape of benches, the rustle of boots. Dozens, then hundreds, rose to their feet, grins spreading like sparks catching tinder.

  “GLORY TO THE LEFT SOCK DIVISION!”

  The shout shook the walls, voices colliding into a roar. Applause exploded next, thunderous, palms slapping together, boots stomping the floor in time.

  A grin tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

  Across the room, someone shouted about Gatei being the GOAT, and that earned a chorus of agreement, a few whistles, even a table-thump. For a moment, it didn’t feel like a briefing. It felt like the start of a festival. I let it crest, then lifted a hand again.

  “Alright, alright!” My voice cut back through, and the applause tapered into a low rumble of anticipation.

  “There are five main barracks,” I continued, pacing slowly across the front, my high heels echoing against the floor. “Portside and southern are the most important to take. Lose those, and every other push gets ten times harder. They’re chokepoints, supply lines, fallback nests. You hit those, you hit the city’s lungs.”

  The murmurs rippled again, not laughter this time but agreement. Players shifted in their seats, murmuring strategy, some already scribbling notes into holos. The hum of determination filled the space, mixing with the sterile scent of recycled air and faint oil from the ventilation ducts.

  “And then…” I let my voice trail, shoulders slumping theatrically. I dragged a hand down my face and gave the room my best long-suffering groan. “We have… special quests.”

  That earned another ripple of laughter, and I rolled my eyes heavenward for effect. “You think setting up this circus is fun? Pain. Pure pain.”

  A few sympathetic claps, but mostly grins.

  “But!” I raised a finger, pulling them back to focus. “You know what to do. And if you don’t—” I pointed toward the crowd, spinning slowly, making sure my gaze hit every corner. “Check your quest log. I wrote it all down. No excuses.”

  From the back, Rob cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Love you!”

  That drew immediate whistles and a hoot of laughter. Lisa, seated behind him, didn’t even hesitate… her hand smacked the back of his head with a thwack audible even over the crowd.

  He only grinned wider, rubbing his skull and flashing me a thumbs-up like the idiot he was.

  “All that,” I said, letting the last words hang in the air like the last notes of a song, “is tomorrow.” The room leaned forward with me, dozens—hundreds—of faces caught between nerves and adrenaline. I let the pause stretch, then flashed a grin and pivoted toward Lola.

  She was waiting at my side, holo still open, her posture still the same. “Now, Lola?” I asked. She gave me a single nod. “We celebrate… on the company dime!”

  The aula erupted. Laughter boomed, chairs scraped back, boots stomped against polished stone. My grin widened, even as I raised a hand in mock despair.

  And then, cutting through the chaos, Fty’s voice rang out. “It’s your money!”

  That detonated the room. People doubled over, some pounding the tables, others pointing gleefully in my direction. A wave of bodies surged upward, rising as one, and before I could even glare properly at Fty, the crowd had transformed from tense players into a laughing, shouting mass of players.

  I crossed my arms and pouted at him, but it was no use. He only sat there, expression schooled into the picture of innocence, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

  “Circus,” I muttered under my breath, though the corners of my lips betrayed me too.

  The buzz of voices swelled… snatches of jokes, roars of laughter, the scrape of boots as the aula turned from briefing hall to impromptu tavern. Lola slipped closer, her hand settling lightly on my shoulder. “Lady,” she whispered, her voice warm with rare praise, “you were… good.”

  For once, I didn’t argue.

  I turned and pulled her into a hug instead, the fabric of her blouse cool against my cheek, the faint scent of coffee calming me. But while I held her, I leaned in with my lips close to her ear, and whispered, “Where did you get your new watch?”

  She stiffened instantly.

  I squeezed her tighter, just enough for her to feel the grin in my voice. “Gotcha. Finally figured out where our budget for watches went.”