Lelya spent her first week in the new position traveling.

  Coffee shops, restaurants, private apartments—places without cameras and Alnar’s protective wards. Unofficial meetings that wouldn’t appear in any protocols. Miroslav covered for her absences, Radimir pretended everything was normal.

  If the Citadel had isolated Monolith—the connections needed to be restored. Quietly, so the enemy wouldn’t notice.

  The first meeting was with a young diplomat from House of All Winds. His name was Elin, and he agreed to talk only because he had been a friend of the deceased Asinai—the same representative with whom a meeting was supposed to have taken place in February.

  “She didn’t believe in coincidences,” he said, staring at a cup of coffee he wasn’t drinking. “A week before she died, she said someone was following her. That someone wanted to interfere with her work.”

  “What work?”

  “She was preparing a report on Citadel violations in the northwestern territories. Illegal mining, bribery of local officials, pressure on the population.” He raised his eyes. “The report disappeared along with her.”

  Lelya listened, remembered, asked questions. She didn’t interrogate—she talked. This was important: people open up to those they’re talking with, not to those interrogating them.

  “House of All Winds has an interest in the Citadel not getting those territories,” she said. “If they control the northern trade route, your economy will suffer first.”

  “Not everyone understands that.”

  “But you do. And there are others who understand.” Lelya leaned forward. “I need names. People I can talk to. For one simple reason: if we lose this dispute, you’ll be next.”

  Elin was silent for a long time. Then he took out his phone and dictated three numbers.

  The second meeting was with a trade representative from the Freeport League. He was cautious, spoke evasively, but between the lines Lelya heard the main thing: the Freeport League was unhappy with the Citadel’s pressure and was ready to support Monolith.

  “Under certain conditions,” he clarified.

  “Which ones?”

  “Guarantees. If you lose the dispute over the territories, the Citadel will control the northern trade route. For us, that’s a catastrophe.”

  “And if we win?”

  “Then we’ll talk about a long-term partnership.”

  Lelya smiled—that smile she had practiced back in negotiations in the human world.

  “We won’t lose,” she said. “But that’s just a note in the margins.”

  The third meeting—with an analyst from the Coastal Union—was unexpected.

  He came on his own, without an invitation, and the first thing he asked was to be checked for listening devices.

  “I have information,” he said when Lelya confirmed they were alone. “The Citadel is preparing something big. Not just the northwestern territories.”

  “What exactly?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But there are rumors about a ‘new order.’ About how after this Council, the balance of power in the world will change forever.”

  Lelya felt something go cold inside her. “New order.” That sounded bigger than just a dispute over territories.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because the Coastal Union doesn’t want a new order where the Citadel dictates the rules.” He stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

  That evening, Lelya sat in her new office—now she had an office on the same floor as Radimir—compiling a report.

  Three meetings. Three potential allies. Three threads that needed to be woven into a web.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Roslava entered.

  “Congratulations on the appointment,” Roslava said, sitting in the visitor’s chair. “Fast career.”

  “Thank you.” Lelya set down her pen. “Did you come to congratulate me?”

  “I came to warn you.”

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  Roslava took a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and placed it on the desk.

  “This arrived at my chancellery today. A copy of a report from the Citadel. Officially—an accidental leak. In reality—clearly intentional.”

  Lelya unfolded the sheet. An internal Citadel memorandum, dated last month. The text was partially redacted, but key words could be clearly read: “northwestern project,” “elimination of obstacles,” “final phase.”

  “They want us to see this,” Lelya said.

  “Exactly. The question is—why? To intimidate? Distract? Or push us into a mistake?”

  Lelya reread the memorandum. “Final phase.” It sounded like something inevitable, already set in motion.

  “Maybe,” she said slowly, “they want us to panic. Start acting rashly, make mistakes.”

  “Possibly. Or maybe it’s a real leak, and someone in the Citadel is trying to warn us.” Roslava stood. “Either way, be careful. You’re visible now. And those who are visible usually take the first bullet.”

  She headed for the door but stopped at the threshold.

  “And one more thing, Lelya. The man who attacked you. We found his body three days ago. In the harbor. No documents, no traces.”

  “He was killed?”

  “It looks that way. Someone’s covering their tracks.” Roslava opened the door. “Whoever it is, they’re playing for high stakes. Remember that.”

  The door closed.

  Lelya was left alone, staring at the memorandum in her hands. “Final phase.” “Elimination of obstacles.”

  She placed the sheet in her desk drawer, next to the envelope with the threat she had kept since September.

  Her collection of warnings was growing.

  Over the next two weeks, Lelya held eleven meetings.

  Each one was like a game of chess. She had to listen, understand what the person wanted to hear, and say exactly that—but without lying. Lies in the world of mages were uncovered too easily.

  Fortunately, the truth was on her side. The Citadel really did threaten the balance of power. The northwestern territories really were important to everyone. And Monolith really was ready for compromises—if it got support in return.

  Radimir tracked the results.

  “House of All Winds,” he said at one of their evening meetings, marking something in his notes. “Two of their council members are ready to vote for us. Not openly—but at the right moment.”

  “Three,” Lelya corrected. “There was another conversation today.”

  Radimir raised an eyebrow.

  “How do you do it?”

  “I don’t ask them to support Monolith. I ask them to protect their own interests.” Lelya shrugged. “Monolith is just a tool. It’s easier to agree that way.”

  “Sophistry.”

  “Diplomacy.” She smiled. “It’s the same thing.”

  Miroslav, who was present at the meeting, laughed quietly.

  “She’s right, Radimir. You think in systems, she thinks in words. Together you’re quite a fearsome combination.”

  Radimir said nothing, but something like hope flickered in his eyes.

  In the third week, news came that changed everything.

  Radimir burst into her office without knocking—for the first time in all the time they had known each other.

  “The Citadel is accelerating the timeline,” he said. “The Council has been moved up a month. We don’t have three months—we have six weeks.”

  Lelya felt something clench inside her.

  “Why?”

  “Officially—‘agenda optimization.’ Unofficially...” He sat down across from her. “I think they noticed your meetings. Realized we’re preparing something. And decided not to give us time.”

  “Six weeks,” Lelya repeated. “Will we make it?”

  “I don’t know. But we have no choice.”

  They looked at each other in silence. Outside the window, dusk was falling—another day ending, and there were fewer and fewer of them left.

  “Alright,” Lelya said finally. “Then we work faster.”

  The following days blurred into one continuous stream.

  Morning—meetings. Day—documents. Evening—consultations with Radimir. Night—preparation for the next day. Sleep in snatches, food on the go, coffee instead of proper rest.

  By the end of the fourth week, they had seven confirmed votes in support, four in question, and two categorical refusals.

  “This might be enough,” Radimir said, studying the breakdown. “If everything goes perfectly.”

  “Nothing goes perfectly,” Lelya replied.

  She looked out the window. Beyond the glass—the lights of the night city, thousands of tiny fireflies in a sea of darkness. Somewhere out there, beyond those lights, someone was planning something big. “New order.” “Final phase.”

  A week before the Council, Lelya was returning home late in the evening.

  She was alone—she had dismissed her security earlier that day, when it seemed the danger had passed. A stupid decision she would later recall again and again.

  An alley. Dim streetlight. And three men blocking the road.

  “Madam Deputy Minister,” said one of them. “You work so hard. Time to rest.”

  Lelya felt something awaken inside—the beast she still hadn’t learned to control. The shifter. Her second self.

  But she understood: against three, in the dark—the odds were slim.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just a conversation.” The man stepped closer. “You’re meddling where you shouldn’t. That’s bad for the health.”

  “Whose health are you worried about?”

  “Yours.” He stopped two steps away from her. “And the health of those dear to you.”

  It was a threat. Open, undisguised. And something in his voice told Lelya this was no bluff.

  “Tell your masters,” she said, keeping her voice steady, “that I heard.”

  “Oh, they know.” The man smiled. “They always know.”

  He stepped back, and the trio melted into the darkness as quickly as they had appeared.

  Lelya stood in the alley, feeling her heart pounding. Her hands were shaking—not from fear, from adrenaline.

  They had threatened not just her. “Those dear to you.” Who did they mean? Radimir? Miroslav? Roslava? Her human family?

  And another thought, cold and clear: she couldn’t defend herself. Again. She was a shifter—a beast, a predator—and yet helpless.

  This needed to change.

  She made it home, locked the door, and sat in the darkness for a long time, staring at the wall. Then she took out her phone and dialed a number.

  “Radimir? Sorry it’s late. I need to discuss something.”

  The next morning, Lelya arrived at Alnar before everyone else.

  She told Radimir about the nighttime encounter. About the threat. About the fact that the enemy knew about her work and was ready to act.

  “We need additional protection,” he said. “I’ll talk to Svarog.”

  “No.” Lelya shook her head. “I need something else. I need to learn to defend myself.”

  “You want to...”

  “I’m a shifter. I have power I don’t know how to use.” She looked him in the eyes. “After the Council, I want to train with the special forces. Learn what I should have learned long ago.”

  Radimir was silent for a long moment.

  “First—the Council,” he said finally. “First we win this battle. And then—yes. You’re right. We need to be ready for anything.”

  Lelya nodded.

  A week until the Council. Seven days to finish preparations, gather all the threads, build the strategy.

  And then—battle. Not with fists, but with words.

  And she intended to win.