I finish typing and hit the lock.
The room’s quiet for a second.
Vrok doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t have to.
He’s watching me with a stillness that hums like power.
Gnotz’s face doesn’t twitch. But his fingers tighten on the edge of the table.
“Bold,” he says. “Especially for someone who used to be a contract asset yourself.”
“Exactly,” I say. “I know the terms you offer to grunts. I’m not one anymore.”
He circles the table slowly, gaze sliding between the two of us.
“You think you’re ready to be the face of a restructured order?”
“No,” I say. “I’m not the face. I’m the terms. If you want the legend, it comes with leverage.”
Gnotz studies me. “You’re making enemies with this posture.”
“Let them line up.”
The silence stretches. Then?—
He taps the lock with two fingers.
Approved.
Just like that.
“Fine,” he says. “You want to make waves, make waves. But don’t forget—currents pull both ways.”
“Then we swim,” I say.
Vrok finally speaks. “We’ll send our asset filters tonight. Loadout requests by morning. If you short us, we walk.”
Gnotz bows low, sarcastic but not hostile. “Welcome to the table.”
We turn and leave without another word. My heart’s still pounding, but not from fear. From presence. From knowing I didn’t flinch. From knowing he saw me.
Not as Vrok’s human.
Not as the Butcher’s handler.
But as a player.
An equal.
Vrok falls into step beside me in the corridor, quiet for a beat.
Then, “You didn’t just hold your own. Youled.”
I glance at him sideways, a smirk tugging at my lips.
“Get used to it.”
