It comes out loud. Louder than I meant. Koshin's head turns, and so do about forty other heads—soldiers, elites, people who could snap my spine without breaking a sweat.
I didn't think about whether I'm allowed to speak. Didn't think about anything. My mouth opened and the word fell out, and now I'm standing here with forty pairs of eyes on me and nowhere to go but forward.
"Stop." I point at the rubble, at the people still being pulled out, at the medic tent overflowing with bodies. "They need help right now. Your people need help right now, and if you launch an attack on Faith tonight, who's going to—"
I gesture at a woman being carried past on a stretcher. Burns on her arms. One eye swollen shut.
"Her? Who's going to treat her while you're off killing priests?"
Silence. Every single person in this square is looking at me—every Discord elite with their weapons and their scars and their absolute loyalty to the god I just interrupted.
Koshin's face doesn't change. His eyes are still flat, that terrible empty silver, and he could kill me right now. In front of everyone. Put a knife through my throat and no one would stop him.
Hell, they'd probably applaud.
I keep going anyway.
"Stabilize first. Treat the wounded, secure the area, get your people out of the rubble. Faith will still be there tomorrow. They'll still be there in three days. But she—" I point at the woman again, being rushed toward the medical tent, "—she might not be. Not if everyone's gone. Not if your medics are following you into a war instead of doing their jobs."
My voice cracks on the last word. Exhaustion, probably. Or fear. Or the absolute fucking insanity of what I'm doing right now.
Koshin moves.
Fast. Faster than something that injured should be able to move. One second he's twenty feet away, the next he's right in front of me—close enough that I can see the blood crusted in his hairline, the ash caught in his eyelashes. Those white eyes have gone silver at the edges—glowing faintly, wrong in the dim light.
He doesn't speak. Just stands there, looking down at me, his broken arm hanging at his side and his good hand flexing open and closed. His breath is uneven. His jaw is working.
I don't step back.
I don't know why.
My legs have apparently decided that now is the time to develop a spine, which is inconvenient because the rest of me would very much like to be somewhere else.
Seconds pass.
His eyes move over my face—my mouth, my throat, back to my eyes. Reading something. Looking for something.
The whole square holds its breath.
Then, without moving away from me, without breaking eye contact— "Hollow." His voice cuts across the square. "Two hours. I want everyone who matters in the Hollow."
One of the soldiers—a woman with short hair and blood on her cheek—opens her mouth. "Sir—"
"Triage takes priority." Still looking at me. Still close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his skin. "Medical teams stay. Rescue operations continue. No one moves on Faith until I give the order."
Her mouth closes.
Renan, somewhere behind Koshin's left shoulder, catches my eye. He raises one hand, barely visible, and gives me a thumbs up.
"You." Koshin's still in my space, still close enough that I can feel his breath. "You said you have a plan."
I did say that, didn't I.
I don't actually know if it's a plan. I know it's something—a shape of something, built out of the hours I spent learning Discord's operations and the things Renan taught me about how Houses really work.
"I have a better option than open war."
His eyes narrow, just a fraction. "Then you'll be in the Hollow too."
