The air tastes like cedar and tension.
I leave the Choir and walk the deeper corridors of the Nun—past security posts, past humming server rooms, past the vault where Morazin breathes behind steel and thinks he’s still bargaining.
I don’t go there yet.
Instead, I go to Fyr.
He’s in a recovery suite that smells like antiseptic and stubbornness. He’s sitting upright because of course he is, bandages visible under his shirt, eyes sharp as broken glass.
He looks up when I enter.
“You look pleased,” he says dryly.
“I look busy,” I reply.
Fyr snorts. “Same thing.”
I step inside and shut the door. The room quiets.
Fyr’s gaze narrows. “So. What’s the next disaster?”
I don’t sugarcoat. “We’re going public. Hearing’s coming. Citywide shielding. Syndicates and guilds backing us.”
Fyr’s expression shifts—surprise, then anger. “You’re dragging the whole city into this.”
“The Nine already dragged the city,” I counter. “I’m just making sure it doesn’t break silently.”
Fyr’s jaw tightens. “And you think unity saves us.”
“I think division kills us faster,” I reply.
He leans forward slightly, pain flashing and being swallowed. “You’re gambling Kaijen on a human’s morality.”
I feel the old irritation flare, but I keep my voice steady.
“No,” I say. “I’m gambling Kaijen on autonomy.”
Fyr scoffs. “Same speech.”
“Because it’s still true,” I say.
I move closer, my tone lowering. “Listen to me. The next fight isn’t for territory.”
Fyr’s eyes lock onto mine. “Then what is it?”
I let the words land clean.
“It’s for whether we stay pawns.”
Fyr goes still.
The silence stretches.
Then he exhales, slow, and the anger in his face shifts into something more exhausted—something like reluctant understanding.
“You’re going to get people killed,” he mutters.
“I know,” I say quietly. “But if we don’t move, we’ll die anyway. And we’ll die owned.”
