Geneva – Global Summit Hall
Evening. The sun dipped low, painting the glass dome in gold and ash.
The summit was winding down. Delegates stood, some stretching stiff legs, others quietly packing their notes. The air had softened—like a pressure valve had finally been released. Still tense, still uncertain, but there was something else now.
Direction.
The supernatural leaders exchanged a few quiet words with each other before heading toward the exits in their own groups. No handshakes. No pictures. But also… no more glares.
Zane slid his hands into his pockets, following Lucifer toward the far hall. Behind them, Greta moved with the witches from Highland, Vulpina spoke low with Vladimir and Boris, and the werewolves from the Nordic line faded into the outer corridor like they were never there.
