She nods, expression unchanging. “That’s precisely why you’re here.” She leans forward. “I want to knowwhoyou are beneath the cloak. How loyal areyouto the Sect, to Aebon, to... yourself?”
I swallow. Her room smells of ozone and sterility. The hard glare of cold light makes me itch for home.
“Loyalty, to me, is choice,” I say. “I chose to stand with Aebon, with Goldwin, with my people. I didn’t compromise—I transitioned.” My voice tightens. “Now I stand where I choose to be.”
She nods again—sharp, approving.
“You’re not afraid,” she states. “But ambition... unchecked—is chaos.” She has a cold half-smile. “Can you hold fire without burning?”
I fold my hands. “Yes. I know it’s an art: to guide power instead of letting it guide me.”
Her silver eyes narrow. “Your gala tonight… That was bold. You showed civilityandstrength.” She leans in, voice silky danger. “Goldwin’s elite believe in order under your rule. But the Nine demandcontrol. What’s next for you?”
I meet her gaze without flinching. “The next step is stability beyond Goldwin. Partnerships that transcend sect lines. Infrastructure that cannot be corrupted. Influence that lasts beyond muscle.”
She studies me like a jeweler inspecting a gem. “You’re ambitious.”
“I’m pragmatic,” I correct softly.
She smiles slowly. “Bits of difference, when you’re being tested.”
She shifts, easing back. “I offer you a seat at Nine’s table. A consultant. A half-step for Goldwin’s rise—under Nine oversight, of course.”
My heart hammers. A seat at Nine’s table—a veiled offer to tie Goldwin even deeper.
I swallow past my pulse. “By what terms?”
Ink stands, and the holo-lights flare—charts, node maps, gold-coded terms shimmer. “We require quarterly compliance reports. No overt expansion beyond jurisdiction. And a silenceon certain... sensitive operations.” She eyes me. “You’ll workwithus—or not at all.”
Her gaze cuts:Do you trust us?
I press my fingertips over the edge of the steel chair. “If I join Nine, it won't bind me—it willbind us.”
Madame Ink’s silver eyes swivel, calculating. Her lips quirk. “A bold statement. One I’ll record.”
She signals. Two Nine agents appear, silent as breath. They hand me a holo-pad: a draft agreement.
The weight of it—commitments, compromises, power—is immense. I scroll a finger through terms on sovereignty, oversight, financial channels. Each clause is a lattice for control—not submission, but shared influence.
I look up. “And if I refuse?”
Her expression warms, cold as ice cracking in winter. “Then we relocate operations. Or we remove them. Quietly.” She steps forward. “Yet, if you accept—you will beours, distinctly.” She taps her chest. “But not wholly swallowed.”
I close my eyes—taste steel. The offer is daunting—but also a confirmation: we have arrived. Not just survived the Nine’s test, but now we areconsumedby their sphere. That’s how power grows.
I glance to the porthole and see Earthlight shimmer.
My finger flips through clauses.
I meet her gaze. “I will come to your table. For Goldwin. For Aebon. For what we’ve built.”
Ink smiles—a sharp flash in the low light. “Welcome, Ms. Dawson.”
I step into the hollow chamber and the door seals quietly behind me. I already know what this is—another test. Madame Ink sits under a single holo-light, silver eyes gleaming like shards of an icy night sky.
"You've become... efficient. Civilized. Dangerous," she says, gaze piercing my spine. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
A dossier slides across the obsidian table toward me. I pick it up with steady fingers—my past, unfolded.
