I send it.
The message whooshes into the dark like a thrown knife.
Lonari watches me, expression unreadable. “You trust him.”
“I trust him to be stubborn,” I say. “And I trust him to hate being lied to.”
Lonari nods once. “Fair.”
I set the compad down and exhale.
The room is quiet again.
Not safe. Not peaceful.
But steadier.
Lonari pulls me back into his side, and I let him. I let myself be held without calculating cost.
Outside, Gur keeps grinding its gears. The Nine keeps plotting. Governments keep polishing their narratives.
But in this room, in this moment, I make myself a promise I can actually keep:
I won’t disappear.
Not into work. Not into guilt. Not into silence.
I’ll be the problem they can’t erase.
CHAPTER 30
LONARI
Morning in the Defrocked Nun is a lie told with sunlight.
The chandeliers still glitter. The casino still breathes—music soft as a whisper, laughter bright as a weapon. Even the air smells curated: citrus cleaner layered over smoke, expensive perfume trying to bully out the truth.
But the building remembers.
I can feel it in the floor under my boots, a faint tremor from the night before, as if the Nun is still digesting gunfire and spilled blood. My tongue tastes like metal and sleep I didn’t get. Somewhere deep below, Morazin breathes behind steel.
Somewhere closer, Jordan is awake—because she doesn’t sleep when she’s afraid she’ll lose the thread.
And I… I am Godfather by default, which means I don’t get to be tired.
I walk into the council chamber and the room goes quiet like it’s been trained.
Captains line the table again—some familiar faces, some new ones wearing dead men’s coats. Their jewelry flashes under harsh white light. Their eyes flick to mine, quick, calculating. They smell like fear wrapped in cologne, ambition wrapped in silk.
This time, nobody makes jokes.
They’ve seen the Nine’s mark on concrete. They’ve heard the whispers about a safehouse breach. They’ve watched the way I didn’t flinch.
I take the head seat, not because I crave it, but because if I don’t claim it, someone else will.
My palms rest on the table. The wood is cool. Solid.
“Alright,” I say, voice low. “Let’s talk about how we stop bleeding.”
