The Price of Silence

The boardroom clock was a metronome counting down to a funeral—or a coronation. Fourteen minutes until the ceremony. The air in the room tasted of stale coffee and the ozone of a dying power structure.

Guang Zhen sat at the head of the table, his posture an architectural feat of unearned stability. He didn't rise when Lin Yue entered. He simply watched her, his eyes tracking the slim black drive in her hand with the cold assessment of

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