Chapter 13. The Quietest Knife

Forty-eight hours.

That was all Harper Quinn had to tilt the board.

The vote for Ledger Reclamation wasn’t public. No ballots. No speeches. No campaign banners fluttering in courtyards. Just whispers traded in dark corners and promises scribbled in vanishing ink. Power at Van Hollen didn’t move in declarations—it moved in shadows.

She didn’t need a landslide. She needed momentum. A story strong enough to make itself real.

Arthur ruled through bloodlines and leveraged silence.

Knox ruled through control—through seduction and fear woven into charisma.

But Harper? She would rule through convergence. She would make every faction believe she was already inevitable, already inside their strategy, already wearing the mask they hadn’t dared to put on themselves.

She started with Bryce.

He was camped in the East Library mezzanine, surrounded by glass and blue light, terminals humming like nerves. Two phones buzzed beside a half-drunk cappuccino