Varek’s eyes flick past my shoulder.
He sees him.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
Just enough bone spur silhouette and predatory stillness to make something primal misfire in his nervous system.
I don’t turn.
“I’m not threatening you,” I say. “I’m restructuring your options.”
He laughs weakly.
“You’re dead,” he whispers. “You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“I understand exactly what I’ve done,” I reply. “I’ve made you radioactive. Your rivals are going to tear you apart because they think you’re a liability now. And the Alliance is going to audit you because I just leaked three of your shell accounts to an oversight committee that pretends it’s independent.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he breathes.
I meet his eyes.
I let him see it.
The part of me that ran a restaurant on Novaria.
The part of me that just mapped his entire criminal empire in three days and decided it was fragile.
“I already did,” I say.
The silence stretches.
He looks around like he’s just realized the café is too small and the exits are too far away and his guards suddenly feel decorative instead of useful.
“You outplayed me,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I reply. “And you’re done here.”
“You can’t kill me in neutral territory,” he snaps.
“I’m not going to,” I say. “Your own people are.”
He stares at me like I’ve just spoken in tongues.
“Get out of my city,” I add quietly. “If you’re smart enough to survive what’s coming.”
He stands.
Unsteady.
His guards follow him out without looking at me.
The door chimes again.
The café exhales.
My hands are shaking.
