Elara blinked at the message on her phone, half-convinced she was hallucinating. Helena's tone in the text was sharp enough to cut glass: "Come to Gerald's hospital room immediately. We're having a meeting. Do not be late."
"Oh, fantastic," Elara muttered, closing the text. "It's barely morning, and I'm already summoned to a tribunal."
She glanced toward the grand staircase, where Amara was likely snoring like a chainsaw by now. A pang of guilt pricked at her as she slipped on her shoes. Amara needed rest, not another interrogation. Still, Elara knew better than to ignore Helena Lyselle. That woman had an aura that could make lions bow and grown men cry.
With a sigh, Elara grabbed her coat and headed out, mentally preparing for whatever fresh chaos awaited her.
