Lelya and Bogumir reached the apartment in silence.

  Lelya walked half a step ahead, feeling his presence at her back. The corridors of Alnar were empty at this hour — most of the staff had already gone home. No one saw them step into the elevator. No one noticed their fingers lace together somewhere between the third and fifth floors.

  She opened the door and went in first. He followed. The lock clicked shut.

  "Lelya..."

  She turned around and kissed him — not as carefully as he had kissed her in the office. Months of waiting, months of glances and unfinished sentences — all of it demanded release.

  He answered — and his kiss held the same thing. Months of watching her and not being able to touch.

  Now — he could.

  Later — much later — Lelya lay on rumpled sheets, staring at the ceiling. Bogumir lay beside her, on his side. His hand rested on her stomach — warm, light. Beyond the window the city darkened — lights, shadows, distant noise.

  "You're quiet," he said.

  "Thinking."

  "About what?"

  "About how that was... unexpected."

  "Bad unexpected?"

  "No." She turned her head and looked at him. "Easy unexpected. Being close to someone — it's usually complicated, frightening. But with you... just easy. As if we'd done this a thousand times before."

  Bogumir was silent, watching her. Then he said:

  "For me too. Five hundred years. A lot of women — I lost count. But with none of them was it like this. With none of them did I want to just lie beside them and say nothing. Usually I wanted to leave. With you — I want to stay."

  Lelya propped herself up on her elbow.

  "What happens tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow I'll be standing at your door, guarding you. Same as always."

  "Let's at least not broadcast this any more than we already have, for the time being. I want this to be ours. Just ours."

  "Agreed."

  "And no kissing during work hours."

  "None."

  "And no looks that give everything away."

  "No looks."

  "And..."

  He kissed her, cutting the list of rules short. She laughed against his lips.

  "That was a rule violation."

  "Work hours haven't started yet."

  "Technically it's already morning."

  "Technically we're still in bed."

  She laughed again — lightly, freely. For the first time in a long while.

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  Morning was still far off.

  Radimir spread the documents across the table.

  "New intelligence from our informant."

  Lelya pulled herself away from thoughts of Bogumir — they still occupied far too much space in her head — and focused.

  "What did he find out?"

  "The Citadel is still working with historians. Experts on territorial disputes and ancient treaties." Radimir pointed to the list. "And at the same time they're strengthening contacts with the House of All Winds. The House's ambassador had dinner with Wulf twice in the past week. The Citadel clearly wants to pull them to their side."

  "With what?"

  "Trade preferences. Access to southern ports. And talk of 'kindred peoples.'"

  Lelya froze.

  "Kindred peoples," she repeated slowly. "Lilith's people. Part of the The People Who Followed the Sun who split off and lived apart. Several centuries ago, we annexed their lands."

  "You think that's connected?" Radimir asked.

  "I do. Historians specializing in territorial disputes. Outreach to the House of All Winds through 'kindred peoples.' What if the Citadel is planning to raise the question of those territories?"

  "On what grounds? The conquest was lawful."

  "Wulf isn't a fool. He won't spend resources on a legal dispute he's guaranteed to lose." Lelya stopped by the window. "What if he's planning to attack not legally, but emotionally? Build a narrative. A story about a 'suffering people,' about 'oppression.'"

  "For that you need evidence."

  "Or testimony. Which can be manufactured."

  Radimir leaned back in his chair.

  "It's a hypothesis," Lelya said. "But it explains everything. The historians aren't looking for legal grounds — they're looking for material for a story. We need a countermeasure. Real testimony. Independent observers — journalists, researchers, the key thing is they can't be linked to us."

  "That's risky. If they find something bad..."

  "Then we'll be the first to know. And we can fix it." Lelya shrugged. "Better to brace for a blow that never comes than miss the one that does. But that's just a marginal note."

  Lelya stopped at the door and turned back.

  "Radimir. If my hypothesis is right — why? Why would the Citadel pour this many resources into that land?"

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  "The real reason — shamaim stone deposits. When the alvs arrived in Alma, they brought those stones from Shamaim. They took most of them back, but some remained. And it turned out that Alma has its own deposits — on the lands of Lilith's people. Worth many times more than gold. Demand is enormous, supply minimal."

  Lelya slowly sat back down.

  "So the Citadel doesn't just want the land. It wants the deposits. Economics behind the politics."

  "Always is," Radimir nodded.

  Lilith listened to her in silence.

  They sat in the training hall — empty, quiet. Beyond the window the sun was setting, painting the walls orange.

  Lelya laid out everything: the informant's intelligence, the historians, the work with the House of All Winds, her hypothesis. And her idea — to gather real voices before the Citadel created its own version.

  When she finished, Lilith stood and walked to the window. Behind her back, the shadows of wings appeared — a sign she was thinking about something important.

  "You want me to help organize this."

  "Yes. You know your people. You know who they trust, who you can speak honestly with."

  "I haven't been there for many years. After I began serving Monolith... I felt as though I'd betrayed them."

  "You protect them. Every day. By serving here."

  Lilith smirked — bitterly, without amusement.

  "Not everyone sees it that way."

  Lelya walked over and stood beside her.

  "I'm not asking you to go there. I'm asking you to help find people — journalists, researchers, those who work honestly. I need the truth, whatever it turns out to be. Because the truth is the best weapon."

  The shadows of wings behind Lilith's back slowly dissolved.

  "All right," she said. "I know people. But I have a condition."

  "What condition?"

  Lilith turned to face her.

  "Whatever they find — you don't hide it. You don't touch it up, edit it, make it convenient. The truth — the whole truth."

  "Agreed."

  "And one more thing. If they find problems — real problems — you fix them. You don't sweep them under the rug."

  "I promise."

  Lilith studied her — long, searchingly. Then she nodded.

  "Then within a week, the people will be in place."

  "Thank you, Lilith. We've also contacted international experts. They've agreed to come and give an independent assessment."

  "Don't thank me. This isn't for you. It's for my people."

  She left. Lelya stayed alone in the empty hall. Beyond the window, the sunset was burning out.

  She took out her phone and dialed Radimir.

  "Lilith agreed. We're starting."

  An exhale came from the other end.

  "Good. I'll handle the logistics."

  "Radimir."

  "Yes?"

  "This could be a waste of time."

  A pause.

  "Or it could save us at the World Council. I'd rather take the risk."

  Lelya hung up and looked out the window. The city was sinking into darkness, but Alnar glowed — dozens of windows, hundreds of lights. Somewhere out there Bogumir was waiting for her. And here she was preparing a response to a blow that might never come.

  But if it did — she would be ready.