I don’t look away from Fyr.
“This man tried to eliminate my protected guest,” I say loudly, clearly, so the room hears it the way a courtroom hears an accusation. “In my suite.”
Fyr spreads his hands. “Lonari’s emotional. The human is a liability. Kel ordered?—”
“I don’t give a damn what Kel ordered,” I cut in, and the words echo. The two suited men flinch. Renn’s eyes widen.
Fyr’s smile disappears entirely now. “You’re defying the Godfather.”
“Yes,” I say.
Silence drops like a blade.
Even the emergency lights feel like they pause.
Then another voice drifts in from the open doorway, smooth and amused.
“Well,” Glar says, stepping into view like he owns the air, “this is getting spicy.”
His fur is immaculate. His suit is immaculate. His eyes glitter with satisfaction, like he’s been waiting for this fracture.
He looks at me and smiles. “Lonari. You’re making the Nine nervous.”
I stare at him. “Good.”
Glar’s smile widens slightly. “You know what happens when the Nine get nervous.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They start cutting.”
He nods. “Consequences.”
Jordan’s voice cuts in, sharp. “Oh my god. Do you people ever speak in anything other than vague threats and euphemisms?”
Glar looks at her like she’s a fascinating insect. “You’re brave.”
Jordan smiles brightly. “I’m traumatized. There’s a difference.”
Renn clears his throat, trying to pull the room back from the edge. “Boss, Kel will?—”
“Kel will do what he does,” I say, finally turning my head slightly toward Renn. “And so will I.”
I face Fyr again.
“You tried to kill a civilian under my protection,” I say. “Get out of my house.”
Fyr’s lips curl. “You don’t own this house.”
I step closer, and my voice drops low enough that only he hears the edge.
“Watch me,” I murmur.
Fyr’s eyes flick to the gathered enforcers. He can feel the room shifting—people choosing sides in their heads, loyalty recalculating like a ledger.
He swallows once, then straightens.
“This isn’t over,” he says, voice loud enough for everyone now, saving face.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
