The air in the Integration Council's war room was different now. Under Alexander, it had been a place of growled debates and simmering dominance contests. Under Scarlett, it was a surgical theater. The holographic table glowed, casting sharp blue light on the faces of the faction leaders. There were no empty chairs. The threat of the energy beacon and the escalating civil war had seen to that.
Scarlett stood at the head of the table, not leaning on it like Alexander would have, but standing straight, her hands clasped behind her back. She wore simple tactical gear, her red hair a stark flame against the muted colors. There was no raised voice, no Alpha posturing. Her calm was a weapon, and it commanded a different kind of attention.
"The current strategy is reactive. We're putting out fires while the arsonist is still loose with a can of gasoline," she began, her voice cutting cleanly through the low hum of the room. "That ends now."
