Chapter 67. After Victory

Harper stood at the glass wall of her office in Forge Tower, still in the suit from the audit chamber. Below, the city shimmered—data quieted, sentiment aligned, networks humming like machines finally tamed.

Victory should have felt like weightlessness.

Instead, it pressed down—like a titanium vault: admired, untouchable, alone.

Lucien’s message pinged. She didn’t check it.

Earlier, he’d stood in the corridor, waiting. Not to advise. Just to see if she’d still answer the silence. When she didn’t open the door, he left. But not before sliding one unread file into her private stream.

No name. Just a glyph: a closed eye.

Her hand hovered above the sleek desk, then lowered until her palm pressed flat against the glass.

“Victory doesn’t soften,” she whispered. “It seals.”

She remembered the Heir’s warning: Ledger always crashes when it forgets what broke it.

Maybe that was the real cost of survival: sealing off the failure instead of