Page 171 of Reaper Said Mine

“Then hear it anyway. He wants you angry.”

“He succeeded.”

“Gnash.”

The lift drops fast enough to pull at my stomach. Harsh white lights slide over the walls. My reflection flashes in the polished metal, all teeth, bone spurs, and eyes red enough to look lit from within.

“He told you that you could be removed,” I say.

“Yes.”

“He implied my people would be blamed.”

“Yes.”

“He threatened you with death and narrative.”

Her voice softens, which is worse than shouting. “I know.”

“I am done allowing men like him to explain which bodies count as acceptable costs.”

The line goes quiet for one breath.

“Then don’t become the proof he wants,” she says.

The lift doors open.

I step into the diplomatic concourse, where Zune’s party is being escorted toward the negotiation chamber for the emergency session he himself requested after docking. The timing is deliberate. He threatened Ursa in private and now walks toward public legitimacy, clean suit, clean hands, witnesses waiting. He expects a denial from me. Perhaps a raised voice. Perhaps threats that make his case easier. He expects anger he can use.

He does not expect honesty with claws.

“I love you,” I say into the comm, because if the next few minutes break the world, she will not hear those words first from rumor.

Her breath catches. “Gnash.”

“I will see you soon.”

“Damn it, listen to me⁠—”

I end the call before her fear can make me hesitate.

The negotiation chamber doors open as I approach, and every conversation inside dies by degrees. Theryki stands near the Coalition side, golden eyes sharpening the instant she sees my face. Gobold is beside the Alliance table with two officers, one hand already drifting toward his sidearm. Wilcox turns from a quiet conversation with her aide and goes pale in that controlled military way that means she understands danger before anyone else names it. Skahar enters from the opposite side with Vakka just behind him, both moving quickly for creatures pretending not to hurry.

Zune stands near the center of the chamber like he owns the air.

He turns as I enter and smiles.

“Lord Gnash,” he says. “I appreciate your willingness to convene so promptly. Recent events demand clarity.”

I walk toward him.

The room smells of expensive fabric, recycled air, weapon oil, Coalition incense, and fear. The assassin’s attack left scorch marks along the wall that no amount of emergency cleaning has erased. The repaired panel gleams newer than the surrounding armor, a bright patch over a wound everyone keeps pretending not to see.

Zune lifts one hand, palm outward. “Before tempers flare, let me say that Helios remains committed to de-escalation.”

I stop three paces from him.

“You threatened Ursa Ramone.”