“Like a coup,” he counters.
A few murmurs ripple. Some heads nod. The fear turns sideways—looking for an alternative.
Korran steps forward a pace, posture confident. “You’re bleeding. Your safehouses get breached. You suspend tribute like a child throwing a tantrum. And now you want to make us all targets for your obsession with a human contractor.”
I feel heat rise in my chest, but I keep my voice mild. “You’re saying a lot of words for someone who wants something.”
Korran smiles. “I want Gur stable. Under competent management.”
“And you think that’s you,” I say.
He shrugs. “Someone has to clean up Kaijen’s mess.”
Behind him, two of his men shift—subtle, hands near coats. In the corner, a Spindle rep leans slightly away like they smell what’s coming.
Korran’s smile stays bright. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll hand over the hearing plan. You’ll hand over your intel. And you’ll step down before you burn the city.”
The room holds its breath.
This is the coup moment.
Right here.
Korran thinks he’s clever because he’s making it about “stability” and “competence.” He thinks he’s giving the fearful an excuse to betray me without feeling like cowards.
He thinks I’ll argue.
He thinks I’ll posture.
He doesn’t understand I’m done with theater.
I exhale slowly.
Then I say, conversational, “No.”
Korran’s smile twitches. “Excuse me?”
I glance at his men. “You brought weapons into my room.”
Korran laughs. “Everyone here has weapons.”
“Yes,” I say. “But yours are for me.”
His eyes harden. “You’re paranoid.”
“No,” I reply. “I’m accurate.”
I tilt my head slightly, a signal so small only my people catch it.
The Choir’s hidden doors lock with a softthunk.
The room’s air changes instantly—people feel it even if they don’t understand it. Like an invisible hand closed around their throat.
Korran’s men reach for their coats.
And my shooters in the ceiling crawlspaces—quiet, disciplined—make their presence known with a single sound: the click of safeties disengaging.
Korran freezes mid-motion.
