A woman in jeweled ear cuffs snaps, “My lenders are calling in notes like it’s the end of days! I need protection, not an apology!”
Another voice—older, trembling—cuts through: “Nine crews are already probing the east docks. If you can’t guarantee safe passage, we’re dead.”
Lonari steps into view and the whole lobby shifts like the crowd is suddenly aware of gravity again. Voices falter. Heads turn. The air tightens.
He doesn’t shout.
He doesn’t need to.
“What’s the problem,” he says, voice low and carrying.
A merchant near the front—broad shoulders, thin smile—takes a brave step forward. “Boss Kaijen, with respect, your… guest—” he glances at me like I’m radioactive “—just put a target on all of us. Markets are panicking. Cred lines are freezing. Rival syndicates are moving. We need protection.”
Lonari’s eyes narrow slightly. “You’re in my house.”
The merchant swallows. “Yes.”
“Then you’re protected,” Lonari says simply.
A murmur ripples—half relief, half disbelief.
“And if your creditors are panicking,” Lonari continues, “then they should’ve considered not building their empires on Baragon scaffolding.”
A few people flinch at the name. Some glance around like saying it too loud summons bullets.
The jeweled woman snaps, “That doesn’t fix my ships getting seized!”
Lonari’s jaw flexes. “Renn.”
Renn steps forward, voice crisp. “All Kaijen checkpoints are active. Medical stations secured. Dock corridors are under patrol rotation. Any rival crew moving in without clearance gets detained or dropped.”
The merchant’s expression tightens. “Detained? Not executed?”
Lonari’s gaze turns icy. “We’re not the Nine.”
The words land like a slap.
Some merchants look startled. Some look offended, like mercy is bad business.
I open my mouth, then shut it, because as much as I love calling out hypocrisy, this isn’t about my ego. This is about keeping civilians from getting chewed up while everyone decides whether the truth is worth the chaos it causes.
A merchant’s eyes flick to me. “She started this.”
I step forward, pain flaring in my side, and I ignore it because the alternative is letting them frame me as a problem they can bargain away.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “I did.”
The lobby hushes.
I meet their eyes one by one. “I exposed Morazin’s false-flag infrastructure and the money routing that funded it. If your profits depended on that staying quiet, then your profits were always a hostage situation.”
The merchant bristles. “Easy for you to say.”
“No,” I reply flatly. “It’s not easy for me to say. I got shot and kidnapped and nearly executed on a death-world. I’m saying it because it’s true.”
A few people look away. Guilt. Fear. Anger. Pick your poison.
Lonari’s voice cuts in, controlled. “Enough. You want protection, you follow the rules. No private militias. No shooting in civilian lanes. No ‘examples.’ If you want to settle disputes, you bring them to me.”
