Chapter 231
Chapter 231:
“Tomorrow,” he answered honestly.
She smiled, that terrifying smile that mixed eagerness and rage. “Tomorrow, we take everything from them, just like they took everything from us.”
Her hand moved to his face, fingers tracing his jaw with surprising gentleness. “No more failures. No more watching from a distance while they celebrate. Tomorrow, we win.”
Herod nodded, unable to voice his growing doubts. Rose would see any hesitation as betrayal now. They were too far down this road together.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.
Rose settled against him again, falling back to sleep with the ease of someone whose conscience troubled her not at all. Herod remained awake, watching shadows move across the ceiling, feeling the weight of what was to come pressing down on him like a physical thing.
Tomorrow, they would attack the Phoenix Grid directly. Tomorrow, they would cause real, physical destruction. Tomorrow, they would become everything they had pretended not to be.
The final battle was coming. And Herod feared no one would emerge unscathed.
Camille’s penthouse glowed with warm light against the evening sky. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the city below, where thousands of lights, now powered by the Phoenix Grid, sparkled like earthbound stars. The dining table, set for twelve, gleamed with crystal and silver.
Hannah arrived first, bringing a bottle of champagne and a shy smile. She looked different outside the control room—softer somehow, in a simple dress, her usual ponytail replaced by loose waves.
“It’s strange to celebrate,” she said as Camille welcomed her. “Part of me is still waiting for another crisis.”
Camille squeezed her hand. “Tonight, we just enjoy our success.”
The others arrived in quick succession—Mike from Hannah’s team, board members who had supported the Grid from the beginning, Alexander’s chief engineer who had helped design the power relays. Each brought congratulations, small gifts, and happy exhaustion from the work finally completed. Camille moved among them easily, the perfect hostess, but her eyes kept drifting to the door. When the bell rang again, she hurried to answer it herself.
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Her parents stood in the hallway, looking uncertain. Her mother clutched a small gift bag. Her father shifted from foot to foot like a schoolboy called to the principal’s office.
“You came,” Camille said, surprising herself with the relief in her voice.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” her mother replied. “Your moment of triumph.”
Camille stepped back to let them enter. Their relationship remained fragile, a delicate bridge being rebuilt one careful board at a time. But they had come. That mattered.
The door opened once more, and Victoria swept in with her usual regal presence. She wore deep blue tonight instead of her usual silver-gray, perhaps her own small acknowledgment that this evening marked something new.
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