Title: Amara Watches the Fallout

Amara's POV

I stood by the balcony of the command tower, overlooking the capital as dawn broke across the empire.

Smoke curled from the edges of the city—targeted explosions, precise strikes. Not chaos, no. This was discipline. Every blast, every movement, every disruption was deliberate. Controlled.

My orders had been executed with brutal perfection.

I took a deep breath, the scent of burnt steel and scorched ambition hanging in the air like perfume. I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I watched.

Skylar's agency headquarters? Disabled. Her broadcasts silenced.

Christiana's network? Paralyzed. Her communication lines cut mid-order.

Classic? He ran. Just like I predicted.

And yet, none of this gave me joy. Not really.

I did what had to be done—because Chris needed stability. Because the empire needed fear before it could ever feel peace again. Because someone had to strike first. And it had to be me.

A knock echoed at the door.

"Come in," I said without turning.

A young officer entered, saluting quickly. "All major targets neutralized. Civilians minimal collateral. Skylar escaped. Christiana… status unknown."

"Skylar always runs. But she'll resurface," I replied, calm. "Let her."

"But… if she does?"

I finally turned to face him.

"Then I'll bury her dreams the same way I buried her rebellion."

The officer nodded and left.

And I stood there, watching the city breathe again under my rule. Under our rule.

For Chris. For the Empire. For order.