OPERATION WINTERSPINE (Strings Between Us Book 2)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: OF VERDICTS, GHOSTS, AND THE DAY TRUTH STOOD

And KD? His fists were clenched. Because this was psychological warfare. Because letting them walk wasn't mercy. It was cruelty measured in restraint.

As for me? I sat straighter. I let the silence roll. And I thought:

We didn't destroy them. That would have been mercy. We left them standing. So they'd know how small they've become.

Xythe's POV
Eclipsa Sanctum - The Sigil Heart Hall | The Night Before the Trial

The air in the Sigil Heart wasn't just still—it listened.

There was a tension in the room, like a breath being held between battle and consequence. Every light along the Orichalcum trim pulsed faintly—blue, measured, steady—as if it too was waiting for the first strike. The hall had shifted. It no longer looked like a war room.

It looked like a verdict waiting to happen.

The holotable hovered in the center, inert for now, but ready—like a blade still sheathed. Around it, our thrones stood silent, each coded to our pulse, each one a sentinel of our intent. The pulse-thread grid beneath our feet hummed faintly with stored memory, like the room was already replaying the trial before it began.

My throne remained empty. I wasn't ready to sit yet. Not until the variables aligned.

Tofer's decrypted comm logs streamed across one panel—data we were never meant to have. Data that made this trial possible.

Keryn stood near the interface wall, rings faintly lit, syncing with the perimeter nodes. Listening without speaking.

Alexie worked silently, her scrambler tuned to the Committee's internal frequency. Seb scribbled traps across his pad, doodling in the margins like a bored god designing someone's downfall.

Thres, half-asleep near the far steps, poked at dumplings like they'd personally betrayed him.
Saichel was upside down on a bench, solving and undoing his pulse-cube so fast the camera grid couldn't keep up.

And in the center of it all— Lyle.

Regal even in stillness. He sat like the hall had been built around him. Not just a leader—but the Crown itself.

Every inch of him said: Command me, and I will destroy.
Every silence said: Disobey, and I won't have to.

Ari wasn't here right now. But her fingerprints were everywhere—in the plan, in the strategy, in the ache behind our silence.

Twelve hours ago, she'd stepped into this chamber, met each of our eyes, and said:

"Make them think it's justice. Then leave them with silence."

She knew exactly what we were about to do.

I broke the silence first. "We shouldn't let them get expelled."

No one flinched. Because we'd already agreed. This was just rehearsal for the truth.

Alexie didn't look up. "Easier to track snakes in the garden than in the wild."

Keryn's eyes didn't shift. "So we go to trial just to back off?"

Lyle finally moved—barely. His voice, when it came, was the final key in a lock we'd built together. "Yes. We proceed... then pull the case ourselves."

And just like that, the tone of the room changed. From planning to execution.

Tofer's hands paused mid-keystroke. "Controlled. Visible. Leashed."

I nodded. "Every step they take? We'll be waiting."

Saichel caught his cube mid-spin. "Let them think it's mercy. When it's just... long-game vengeance."

Thres exhaled through his nose. "They're already burning."

Seb muttered, without looking up: "And if they twitch wrong—Rowan's getting a ceiling tour."

A beat passed. The mission was clear. The trap was already set. Only the final directive remained.

Lyle stood. Quietly. Powerfully. He didn't look at us like soldiers. He looked at us like instruments—tuned, ready, and lethal.

Then he said the words we'd all been waiting to hear.

"We're entering Operation Winterspine, Act Two ."

Silence wrapped the room like a sheath. Cold. Clean.

I felt the shift. Not tactical—ideological. This wasn't just retaliation anymore. It was positioning. Patience. Predation.

I caught Tofer's eye. He nodded once. The files were ready to deploy. The comm logs. The terrain hacks. The system footage Alexie had spliced. All of it, timed. Prepped. Coordinated.

Tomorrow, the trial would start. And we would end it. Not with a gavel. Not with a verdict.With silence. And silence, when sharpened enough—cuts deeper than judgment ever could.