"Are there any objections," Gabriel asked mildly, fingers flipping to the second page of the report, "before I begin dismantling your precious bureaucracy?"
The silence that followed wasn't mere hesitation—it was survival instinct.
A few papers rustled. Someone—likely the provincial judge—shifted uncomfortably. The chancellor from the Northern Consortium cleared his throat, but no words followed. It was one thing to protest a proposal. It was another to protest one backed by the Emperor's direct authority, delivered by the consort who had survived assassination, court politics, and the Emperor's own bed.
Gabriel waited precisely two seconds longer than necessary, then raised his eyes at last.
Dead calm. No challenge in them—just inevitability.
"Good," he said.
