“Meaning?” Jasker presses.
Tarsen’s eyes gleam. “Meaning the destabilizing element is removed.”
Jordan’s voice in my comm is a tight whisper. “I’m going to crawl through this feed and punch him.”
I murmur back, “Hold.”
In Suite Twelve, Jasker exhales slowly. “You want Lonari gone.”
Tarsen’s expression stays mild. “Lonari is… difficult. But he is also Kaijen blood. Removing him violently would create chaos.”
Jasker’s gaze flickers. “So you want the human.”
Tarsen inclines his head like he’s acknowledging a simple fact. “Jordan is the catalyst. The Nine views her as the breach.”
Jasker’s mouth twitches. “They’ll take her.”
Tarsen’s tone is almost sympathetic. “Captain, they will take her regardless. The only question is whether you are the one delivering her… or the one being buried under the fallout.”
The room goes very still.
Jasker’s voice turns quiet. “If I give her to them… I get amnesty.”
“You get a future,” Tarsen says.
Jasker nods once, like he just signed his soul with a shrug. “She’ll be in the Nun. Under Lonari’s protection.”
Tarsen’s smile is calm. “Then we arrange an extraction. Quiet. Clean. No blood in the casino.”
Jasker’s jaw tightens. “And Lonari?”
Tarsen’s eyes don’t blink. “Lonari can keep his throne. For now. Once the human is removed, the Nine’s pressure eases. Tribute can resume through… more responsible hands.”
Jasker’s lips curl. “Mine.”
Tarsen doesn’t deny it.
Jordan’s voice comes through my comm, shaking with fury. “He’s selling me.”
“Yes,” I say, and my own voice stays steady only because I’ve trained it to. “Now watch what happens next.”
Because this is the moment.
The moment where a captain decides a person is a bargaining chip.
The moment where the Nine thinks it owns the board.
I push off the corridor wall and walk to the suite door with measured steps. I don’t rush. I don’t roar. I don’t slam my fist.
I let the door scanner read my biometrics and comply like it’s always been mine.
The lock clicks.
Inside, their conversation pauses as if someone hit mute.
I open the door and step into the room.
Warm air wraps around me—perfume, polished wood, the faint bite of expensive alcohol. My senses catalog everything in a heartbeat: the way Jasker’s hand twitches toward his coat, theway Tarsen’s posture stays relaxed but his eyes sharpen, the way the vent above them holds the tiny lens Sable planted.
