His uniform was perfect. His expression was better. Calm. Disappointed. Practiced. It was the face of a man arriving at a scene he believed he already owned.

“What happened here?”

Nobody answered. Not immediately.

Harlow made a show of coughing again, bracing himself against the tile. “She attacked me, sir.” The words came fast, like he’d rehearsed them.

Mercer didn’t look surprised.

That was the first crack. One of the MPs noticed it too — Aria watched his eyes move from Mercer to Harlow and back.