Chapter 95 His Dominion

• The silence that followed was not peace—it was paralysis.
• The air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with the echo of a thousand synchronized boots. The last flare had long faded from the sky, but its afterimage still burned behind every trembling eyelid.
• Victor Kane swallowed hard, his throat tight and dry. His hand, once so steady, shook against the handle of his pistol. Nathan Fletcher’s breath came in shallow bursts beside him, the false confidence draining from his posture like color bleeding from a dying flag.