I step down from my post to join her flank. We’re a unit: law and order born in darkness, cloaked in civility.
We pass a cluster of Nine operatives. I see them checking our timing, our presence, our posture.
We approach a well-known industrial magnate—soft eyes behind polished steel-rims. I slip in beside Aria. “Mr. Tael,” I say. “Thank you for lending your presence tonight.”
He gives a nod that trembles respect. “A spectacle—power under silk. Very well played.”
She smiles, toasting him with a flute. “To Goldwin’s future.”
He sips, eyes drifting toward me. “Your partner… formidable.”
He’s not wrong.
We move as a silent pair of rulers, quietly pulling energy behind us. I gesture to Aria. “Would you do me the honor of our speech?”
She steps onto the small stage behind us—set aside for remarks. My heart hammers.
She inhales. Room quiets.
“Esteemed colleagues, allies, friends,” she begins. Her voice is rich, polished, undeniable. “Tonight is about unity—not in homage to law or fear, but to stewardship.”
Eyes lock on her. Cameras swirl.
She continues, hands open, radiant. I do not interrupt; I watch. Each pause she holds is a decision in motion.
“We invest not just in profit, but in people. In streets lit at night, in clinics that heal, in systems that see value in every citizen—not just those who can pay.”
Polite applause ripples. I exhale relief.
She surveys the room again: Nine eyes among them. She steps down, brushing past me. We stand side by side again. The plan is underway.
The lights dim to ambiance, music swells, dancers swirl. Secured whisper-lines hum in my ear. Gold flows. Promises traded.
Aria locks eyes with me. I tilt my head:Now?She nods subtly.
I flex the handcuff device hidden in my pocket—silent threat, invisible.
She moves to a Nine informant: a wedge-shaped negotiator named Sylis. She offers handshake, eyes kind.
“I admire your tact,” she says, leaning close. “But I hope you see real value in stability.”
He smiles, calm. “I’m judging long-term viability, Ms. Dawson. That motto suits me.”
She lifts her glass. “Then we have much to accomplish.”
He sips. The contact measures us both. I stay close behind her.
The gala nears its end. Guests linger in clusters, posing for holo-portraits, lingering in subdued laughter.
Aria leans into me, whispering, “We pulled it off.”
My voice returns quietly, re-grinned. “They’re swayed.”
She narrows eyes: “But Nine?”
I exhale. “They’ll calibrate. That’s enough—for now.”
She nods. I lace her fingers in mine.
