Debt Of Honour.

Elara Vance had not come to the glass-and-steel heart of the city to beg for a miracle. She had come for war.

She stood on the shimmering pavement outside the Vane Group headquarters, her knuckles white as she gripped the handles of her father's wheelchair. Beside her, her younger brother, Kain, looked up at the skyscraper with a mixture of terror and wonder. The building was a monolith of arrogance-the kind of place that swallowed people's lives and spat them out as quarterly earnings.

"We don't have to be here, Elara," her father whispered, his voice a dry rasp. He clutched an oxygen tank between his knees, his face pale under the afternoon sun.

"We can just... go."

"No, Papa. We aren't going anywhere," Elara said, her voice trembling with a fury she didn't bother to hide. She reached into her pocket and felt the crisp edges of the subpoena. "This is ancestral land. Mama's garden is the only thing we have left of her. They aren't taking it."

She pushed the wheelchair toward the revolving doors.

"Miss, you can't bring that in here," a security guard snapped, stepping into her path. He was a mountain of a man with a radio clipped to his shoulder and eyes that had seen too many desperate people.

"It's a wheelchair, not a weapon," Elara snapped back. "My father is a citizen, and this company is acting illegally. I have a court-ordered stay of execution for the Floral Essence property. Move."

She tried to shove past, her heart hammering against her ribs. The guard's hand closed around her upper arm-firm and unyielding.

"I said, " out."

"Let go of her!" Kain shouted, trying to push the guard's hand away.

The commotion drew a crowd. Within minutes, the sidewalk was no longer a thoroughfare; it was a stage. Elara didn't cry. She didn't retreat. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out the placards she and Kain had painted the night before.

STOP CORPORATE LAND THEFT.

FLORAL ESSENCE IS NOT FOR SALE.

THE POOR DESERVES JUSTICE.

"The Vane Group is stealing land from a dying man!" Elara's voice rang out, clear and sharp. "Thirty years of sweat and history, erased because a billionaire wants a better view! Is this how the Vanes do business?"

Inside the building, thirty floors up, the air was filtered and smelled of expensive sandalwood. Julian Vane sat in his high-backed leather chair, staring at the woman on the security monitor. He felt a dull throb behind his eyes.

"She's making a scene, Julian," his mother, Victoria Vane, said. She was pacing the office like a panther in a silk suit. "It's embarrassing. The stock is already sensitive because of the merger."

"I can see that, Mother," Julian said, his voice level.

"You need to fix your image," Victoria hissed, leaning over his desk. "Your father's will was not a suggestion. You secure the energy contract, you get married, and you provide an heir. If you don't, the board