Elara turns her head sharply toward me, but says nothing.
The Alliance advisor exchanges a glance with Voss.
“That admission weakens you,” he says carefully.
“It demonstrates priority,” I answer.
Silence settles.
Then the independent delegate speaks again.
“Draft provisional terms,” she says. “Recognize reduced Reaper territory. Establish demilitarized corridors. Create joint oversight body with neutral systems. Freeze mobilization on both sides.”
Voss nods slowly.
“Alliance will require verification of compliance.”
“You will receive transparency,” I reply.
“And if a seceded clan violates buffer zones?” he presses.
“They are no longer under unified command,” I say evenly. “You will treat them as independent actors.”
Which means Alliance cannot punish unified territories for their actions.
Voss understands the implication.
He nods once.
“Preliminary ceasefire terms drafted,” the system announces as text scrolls across the projection.
No cheers.
No relief.
Just a fragile scaffold erected over open flame.
As signatures begin to populate, I feel the weight of every territory relinquished, every clan that walked away, every ship lost shielding our escape.
Peace does not feel clean.
It feels carved.
Rethan leans close again.
“You give away ground to hold breath,” he murmurs.
“I give away ground to hold future,” I reply.
Across the table, Voss studies me with something approaching reluctant respect.
“You are diminished,” he says quietly.
“Yes,” I answer.
“And yet you accept.”
“Yes.”
