Fyr backs toward the door with his men, posture stiff with rage. As he passes Glar, Glar’s smile never changes.
“Such drama,” Glar purrs. “Kel won’t like this.”
“I don’t care what Kel likes,” I say, raising my voice again, letting it carry. “And here’s what else—starting now, I’m auditing tribute accounts.”
The room freezes.
Renn’s face goes pale.
Somewhere in the corridor beyond, a guard whispers, “He said audit.”
Glar’s eyes sharpen, amusement thinning. “That’s… ambitious.”
“It’s necessary,” I say.
Glar steps closer, voice soft. “Those ledgers aren’t yours.”
“They are Kaijen ledgers,” I reply. “And I am Kaijen.”
Glar’s smile returns, but it’s brittle now. “You’re going to fracture the syndicate.”
I nod once. “Good.”
Renn exhales like he’s trying not to panic. “Boss, people are going to choose?—”
“They already are,” I say.
Jordan’s hand touches my arm—light, brief, grounding. I glance down at her, and the look in her eyes isn’t fear.
It’s resolve.
Glar watches that touch with interest, like he’s logging it.
Then he leans in, voice low, for me alone. “The Nine don’t forgive.”
I lean in too, close enough that my breath warms his fur. “Then they better learn.”
Glar’s eyes flash—delight and threat and calculation all at once. He steps back.
“Very well,” he says, smooth again. “I’ll let Kel know you’ve chosen your… position.”
He turns and glides out, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive cologne and old danger.
Fyr is gone. The suite feels smaller with all these people in it, all these eyes.
Renn looks at me like he’s seeing a different man than the one he followed yesterday. “Boss,” he says carefully, “this is going to split the house.”
I nod. “I know.”
Jordan speaks up, voice steady. “Good. Maybe the rot needs sunlight.”
Several enforcers glance at her, startled by the nerve.
I look at Renn. “Lock down the inner corridors. Double security on Jordan. Anyone who enters my floor without authorization gets put on the ground.”
Renn nods quickly. “Yes, boss.”
He hesitates, then asks, quieter, “And Kel?”
