Silence.
Then heads nod. Fast. Immediate.
Because they believe me.
And they should.
Back at the Nun,Fyr corners me near the war room like he’s been saving up courage.
His voice is tight. “We should trade her.”
I stop walking.
The words hang between us like a bad smell.
I turn slowly. “Say it again.”
Fyr’s jaw works. “Jordan. Trade her. Secure peace. If the Nine want her that badly?—”
“They want her because she’s proof,” I say, voice like stone. “And you want to hand proof to the people staging massacres.”
Fyr’s eyes flash. “I want to keep Kaijen civilians alive.”
“So do I,” I say.
He spreads his hands, frustrated. “Then be practical.”
I step closer until he has to tilt his head up to meet my gaze.
“I am being practical,” I say quietly. “Practical is not feeding a predator because you’re scared it’ll bite.”
Fyr’s lips thin. “You’re choosing internal war.”
I nod once. “If that’s what it takes.”
He exhales sharply. “You’re going to destroy the family.”
I lean in, voice rough. “If the family is already dead and being puppeted by the Nine, then I’m not destroying anything. I’m digging it out.”
Fyr’s eyes flicker—fear, anger, and something like reluctant respect.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks finally.
I don’t soften. I don’t wrap it in comfort.
“Prepare,” I say. “For internal war if the house won’t stand down.”
Fyr swallows. “Lonari?—”
“Enough,” I snap. “You don’t get to argue morality with me after you tried to gas her.”
He flinches.
I turn away and enter the war room.
The holo displays glow with territory maps. Financial nodes. Armory inventories. Patrol routes.
I point at three nodes on the map—quiet, critical points where the tribute pipeline touches Kaijen infrastructure: a League bank interface, a freight ledger hub, and a private exchange office disguised as a charity.
