"Then Coin's going to have a problem."
"The Concord—"
"Fuck the Concord."
"I was going to say the Concord can eat my ass, but sure, your version works too." He crosses the room, drops into the chair across from my desk. "So what's stopping you? You want her. Go get her."
"It's not—" I stop. Start again. "I don't know what this is."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I've never felt this before. Because the pull under my ribs is constant and wrong and terrifying. Because I can't think about anything except where she is and who's touching her and whether she's bleeding again.
Because my cock twitches every time I remember her face, and I've never wanted a mortal, never wanted anyone, and now I can't stop wanting.
"She was honest," I say finally. "Completely. Not performing, not pretending—just honest. And everyone else in that room was so full of shit I could taste it."
"So you want to fuck her because she doesn't play games."
I move before I think. One second I'm by the window, the next I've got Renan by the collar and I'm slamming him into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. My knife is in my hand—don't remember drawing it—and the blade presses against his throat, dimpling the skin.
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't reach for his own weapon. Just looks at me with those calm gray eyes, waiting.
"Don't," I say. The word comes out low. Dangerous. "Don't talk about her like that."
Silence.
Renan's pulse beats steady against the blade. He's not afraid. He's never been afraid of me. But something in his expression shifts. Understanding.
"Okay," he says quietly. "Noted."
I hold him there for another second. Two. The knife steady against his throat, my hand fisted in his collar, and I can feel my own heartbeat pounding too fast.
I just pulled a knife on my only friend. Because he made a crude joke. The kind of joke we've made about a thousand people. The kind of joke I would have laughed at yesterday.
I let go and step back. The knife disappears back into my sleeve.
Renan straightens his collar. Touches his throat once, brief, checking for blood. There isn't any. I know how to hold a blade.
"That's new too," he says. His voice is different now. Not amused—thoughtful. Like he's seeing something he's never seen before and isn't sure what to make of it.
"I know."
"We talk like that. We've always talked like that."
"Not about her."
He studies me for a long moment. I watch him put pieces together—the Concord, Daiven, my reaction just now. The way something fundamental has shifted and neither of us knows what it means.
"Not about her," he repeats slowly. "Got it." He's quiet for a beat. "You've never pulled a knife on me."
"Koshin… What is she to you?"
I don't answer. I don't have an answer. I don't know what she is—just that the thought of someone dismissing her, reducing her, talking about her like she's just another body I want to fuck—
