A ripple of restrained amusement passes through one of the independent delegates.
“Amendment accepted,” Voss says after a brief pause.
The change registers.
Across the table, a smaller independent system representative clears her throat.
“Your resignation increases transparency,” she says to me. “But it also increases risk. Are you prepared to stand in negotiation without diplomatic immunity?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“And if talks collapse?”
“I remain,” I reply.
Kael’s hand brushes briefly against the back of my chair—silent confirmation.
The chamber hums with layered conversations as clauses are debated, adjusted, logged.
Peace negotiations have officially opened—not in triumph, not in celebration, but under the glare of unprecedented scrutiny.
Alliance fleets remain in defensive posture.
League backlash surges.
Independent systems circle like careful mathematicians evaluating probability.
At one point, Voss leans slightly toward me.
“You have no path back,” he says quietly.
“I am not looking for one,” I reply.
His gaze lingers for a moment, assessing whether that is conviction or bravado.
It is neither.
It is clarity.
When the session adjourns for drafting review, I remain seated for a moment longer, watching the projection fade.
A life dismantled does not collapse in a single dramatic instant. It unthreads, clause by clause, credential by credential, until what remains is not the institution—but the person.
Kael waits beside me.
“You chose,” he says softly.
“Yes.”
“And you would choose again?”
“Yes.”
He nods once.
Outside the viewport, the asteroid station continues its slow rotation, cargo ships docking and undocking in indifferent rhythm.
Peace negotiations are open.
