Chapter 33 - The Unmarked Horizon
My hands trembled as I took the cold titanium envelope from Marcus. The seal bore my father's personal signet ring imprint—the soaring falcon of the Vance bloodline, pressed into black wax.
I broke the wax. Inside was a single, high-density encrypted holographic chip and a handwritten letter on Northstar flight manifest paper.
I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakably my father’s—firm, elegant, and hurried:
*My dearest Emily,*
*If you are reading this, it means you survived Victoria’s cruelty and Julian’s wolves. It means you proved yourself to be everything I hoped you would become: resilient, unbroken, and fierce enough to claim the sovereign crown.*
*You think you have won the war, my daughter. You think putting Julian in chains ends the nightmare.*
*It does not.*
*Northstar was never an airline. It was an ark. The twelve gunships that attacked you in Geneva were not Julian’s personal army—they were vanguard scouts for the Sovereign Core. And the man who leads them is not someone you can defeat with DOJ indictments or stock market takeovers.*
*He is already aboard Northstar Flight 01, departing JFK for Singapore tonight.*
*If you want to know the real reason your mother vanished, and why I had to fake my own burial in that cold Maine cemetery... be on that flight. Seat 1A has been reserved for you.*
*Do not trust the crew.*
*— Dad.*
I stared at the letter, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, the encrypted satellite phone on my desk vibrated with a sharp, piercing chime. A high-priority cockpit notification flashed onto the screen:
*NORTHSTAR FLIGHT 01: BOARDING NOW AT JFK TERMINAL 4.*
*PASSENGER MANIFEST OVERRIDE DETECTED: UNKNOWN ENTITY OCCUPYING FIRST CLASS CABIN.*
Marcus stepped forward, his eyes locking onto mine with grim determination. "Emily? What are your orders?"
May you like
I folded the letter, slipped the encrypted chip into my pocket, and grabbed my coat from the leather chair. The six years of pain, the baggage handling, the mockery, the cold flights in the back of the cabin—all of it had forged me for this moment.
"Fuel the *Valkyrie One*," I said, my voice steady, cold, and brimming with royal resolve. "We’re going to New York. I have a flight to catch."
