Chapter 9 - The Final Strike
Inside the dimly lit clocktower room, maps of the High Citadel were spread out across a large oak table, marked with patrol routes, security checkpoints, and electrical grids.
"Victor has consolidated total control," Marcus reported grimly, handing Roman a cup of hot water. "Tomorrow at noon, during the Winter Solstice Gala, he plans to formally absorb the remaining pack loyalties using the Obsidian Seal. Once that ritual is complete, his rule will be absolute and irreversible."
"Then we strike tomorrow during the gala," Roman said, slamming his fist onto the map with absolute finality.
"It's suicide," Marcus warned. "The entire citadel will be swarming with elite guards."
"Not if we take them by surprise," Clara stepped forward, her voice ringing with unexpected authority. She pointed directly to an old, disused drainage pipe marked on the structural blueprints. "The drainage system runs directly beneath the grand ballroom floor. My father used to work on these municipal blueprints twenty years ago. The grates aren't monitored by the new security grid."
Roman looked up at her, a fierce, proud smile breaking across his face. "The Warden's daughter strikes again."
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"I'm not doing this for your throne, Roman," Clara said, her eyes locking onto his with fierce determination. "I'm doing it because if Victor wins, no one on these mountains will ever be safe again."
Within hours, the plan was set. Armed with heavy iron gear, tactical gear provided by Marcus’s underground network, and the blazing resolve of two bloodlines united against tyranny, Clara and Roman prepared for the final battle.
