I meet her with a steady gaze. “Then I collapse your assets safely. I do it clean. No bloodshed. But if you agree… we build something new.” I look to Aria. Reach for her hand. “Together.”
She meets my eyes and gives my hand a squeeze that tells me everything’s possible.
The final silence stretches like a taut wire.
Demira exhales, faint smile. “For Goldwin… we’ll try.”
My circle reacts: nods. A murmur of relief and shock.
I lean back, heart pounding with hope and fear. The war isn’t over—but this? This is the beginning of something no one expected.
I look at Aria. She lets me. Keeps the memory of her touch on my palm through the floor, through the words, through the possibility.
We both know it’s fragile. But it’s real.
And this time—this time—I’m not letting the violence win.
I rise, raise my glass: “To new beginnings.”
Aria drinks. I drink. The future tastes like rain after fire.
The lounge floats above Glimner’s coastal ring like a moon tethered to the ocean. Sunlight fractures through portholes, scattering into warm diamonds across woven carpets and steel-threaded upholstery. A jealous breeze from outside hums in the ventilation system, carrying with it the faint tang of salt and fuel.
Security is tighter than a noose here. Centauri guardians line the perimeter, silent as statues. Nar’Vosk muscle mingle among them, flanked by unknown mercs in muted armor. Hover-shuttles drift like flocks of pale birds outside. We’re in the heart of neutral space—made empty for this moment.
She’s beside me, hair pulled back into a tight loop, sleeves rolled to reveal the raw edge of her ribs. I can’t decide whether I’m more terrified or enraptured. She glances at me, voice low and deliberate. “Ready?”
I inhale the scent of her lavender-musk soap lingering on her skin. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Aria never liked this part of me: the negotiation, the bluff, the constant measurement of lives like ledger entries of blood and coin. Now she steps into it—mediator between wolves. I swallow.
“Let’s do it.”
The Nar’Vosk delegation arrives late—fashionably,defiantly. Two hover shuttles come in synchronized ballet, docking without spinning. All eyes swivel as Demira Vosk descends the ramp, flanked by her lieutenants. She’s dressed in riot crimson, nails polished obsidian, posture stiff with command. A slow, confident smile.
Face like a blade and tongue to match. She doesn’t bother hiding the arrogance.
I rise. Guardians follow suit. Nar’Vosk guardsnarl at the Centauri, their musk drifting of brine and spice.
She stops just short of the table. Candlelight glints on her rings. “I trust we won’t waste more of each other’s time?” she says, voice smooth as silk but edged.
I nod once. “We’re here to find peace. Or end more business.”
There’s heat in my chest—anger, hunger, fear. Aria squeezes my hand. My anchor.
Demira’s lieutenant, a lanky man with a snake’s jaw, leans in. “Peace, yes. But don’t think we forgot how your crew tore through a weapons vault with more blood than strategy.”
My teeth grind. “That… got your attention. We’ll do better this time.”
She quips back, eyes cold: “You always do.”
We take seats. The table is wide, lacquer dark as midnight, with a single orchid at its center. Its blossoms sway in unseen breeze.
Aria stands at the midpoint, looking pale but determined.
My lieutenants take chairs on my side; Nar’Vosk’s crew mirror them. The mood is taut, ceremonial.
We begin—greetings perfunctory. Nar’Vosk offers to reopen trade routes under specific conditions: lower Centauri tariffs, no interference. My team counters with shared profits and security oversight. But we both know this is a preamble.
