Fyr’s eyes flick away, then back. “You’re serious.”
“I’m always serious,” I reply.
He studies me for a long moment, then says, grudging, “If the Nine strikes during the hearing… it’ll be ugly.”
“Yes,” I say. “Which is why we shield civilians. We choke routes. We pre-position medical. We make backlash expensive.”
Fyr’s mouth tightens. “And if High Command pushes back?”
I smile without warmth. “Then we push back harder. Quietly.”
Fyr huffs. “You really think you can dismantle them.”
“I don’t think,” I say. “I decided.”
Fyr holds my gaze, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look like he’s waiting for me to fail.
He looks like he’s bracing to stand beside me.
“Fine,” he says finally, voice rough. “Then stop talking and go do it.”
I nod once. “That’s the plan.”
I turn to leave, and as my hand touches the door, Fyr’s voice stops me.
“Lonari.”
I glance back.
His eyes are hard. “Don’t let them turn you into their pawn either.”
The warning is sharp because it’s personal.
Because he knows what it looks like when power eats you and calls it leadership.
I hold his gaze.
“I won’t,” I promise.
Then I step into the corridor again, the Nun’s heartbeat humming through the walls, the scent of cedar fading into smoke and steel.
The city is bracing.
The Nine is sharpening.
High Lantern is watching.
And I’m done being watched.
CHAPTER 35
JORDAN
The vault under the Defrocked Nun is the kind of quiet that feels engineered.
Not peaceful—controlled. The air is cool and dry, tasting faintly of metal and ozone like it’s been scrubbed through too many filters. The lights are low, clean strips set into the ceiling so there are no shadows deep enough to hide in, but still enough dimness to remind you: this room was built for kings and traitors. For people who aren’t allowed to vanish.
Morazin sits in the restraint frame like a man pretending he’s bored at his own execution. His wrists are locked, ankles anchored, spine held in place by a collar rig that monitors his vitals in real time. His mouth is healed enough to sneer again, though there’s still a rawness at the corner from where the tooth beacon used to live.
