Echoes of Control (1)

The weight of failure hung over the ruins of the disruptor site, a ghost that refused to be exorcised. Veylan stood motionless amid the wreckage, the fractured sun emblem cold in his gloved hand. The truth had settled into his bones like an infection—this infiltration ran deeper than anyone had suspected.

The sabotage had been perfect. Too perfect. No traces of external magic, no gaps in memory that would indicate forced compulsion, no obvious tells. That terrified him more than anything.

A flawless betrayal was not an accident. It was precision. It was intent. It was a game played by an opponent who had already planned several moves ahead.

And Veylan loathed playing from behind.