My hands curl into fists.
I lean toward the speaker, teeth clenched. “Morazin?—”
His laughter softens into a purr. “You think you’re building safety with transparency. But the closer you get to the lantern, the more heat you’ll feel.”
I swallow the urge to scream and instead let my voice go cold.
“Good,” I say. “Let it burn.”
The channel cuts—Lonari, probably, shutting it down from elsewhere.
The corridor smells like spilled food, ozone, and sweat.
My heart is still hammering.
But I’m alive.
And I’m not backing off.
I look at Clint. His eyes are wide, terrified, alive in a way bureaucracy never allowed.
“You saw the executive block,” I say quietly.
Clint nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”
“And you saw what happens when we get too close,” I add.
He swallows again. “Yeah.”
I lift my chin, voice steadying into something that feels like steel.
“Then we don’t stop,” I say. “We speed up.”
Clint’s expression flickers—fear, then determination.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Then we speed up.”
I glance down the corridor, where Kaijen guards drag the stunned assassin away.
Somewhere in this building, Morazin is strapped to a frame and shaking inside his own skin.
Somewhere in a High Command office, a redacted name just felt us tug the thread.
And somewhere out in Gur’s glittering lie of a city, the Nine is getting impatient.
Let them.
Because now I’m impatient too.
CHAPTER 36
LONARI
The hearing starts the way all good revolutions do—quiet, technical, and already bleeding under the surface.
From the outside, it looks clean. A “neutral forum.” A “public safety broadcast.” A live panel with a restrained witness, a civilian analyst, and a set of on-screen legal disclaimers so long you could hang yourself with them.
From the inside, it feels like holding a lit match over a gasoline lake and daring the universe to blink first.
