The tension in the W.H.O.-sanctioned conference room was palpable the moment I walked in, a steady hum of power and resentment lingering in the air. The room was an architectural masterpiece—sleek, modern, and entirely cold. Glass walls displayed a panoramic view of New York's bustling streets below, the city unaware of the chaos brewing in this room.
Amelia sat at one end of the table, flanked by two of her most trusted lieutenants. She looked composed, regal even, her sharp eyes sweeping the room like a hawk circling its prey. Opposite her sat Victoria, her posture loose but radiating defiance. The sharp contrast between the sisters was like oil and water; they didn't just clash—they combusted.
