“Creepy,” Vihl mutters.
“Disciplined,” I correct.
“Same thing,” he says.
We reach the central chamber without being challenged again, and that tells me everything I need to know about the man we are about to deal with. He believes his systems are enough. He believes structure equals safety.
The doors open before we touch them.
Inside, Baronet Kleid Lorens stands at the center of the room as if the entire structure exists to frame him. His posture is rigid, his expression carefully composed, but I can see the tension in the way his fingers flex at his sides.
He is afraid.
He just doesn’t know how to manage it.
“You’ve made quite an entrance,” he says.
“You made me wait,” I reply.
His gaze flickers to the guards behind us, then returns to me. “You could have requested an audience.”
“I did,” I say. “You ignored it.”
That lands harder than he expected.
“Then we are here to discuss terms,” he says.
“We’re here to resolve them,” I correct.
Vihl folds his arms, surveying the room with open amusement. “Let’s not waste time,” he says. “You owe us.”
“I am aware of the outstanding balance,” Lorens replies.
“Outstanding,” I repeat, stepping closer. “That’s one way to describe it.”
He gestures, and one of his attendants brings forward a case, sleek and polished.
“I have prepared compensation,” Lorens says.
Of course you have.
The case opens, revealing neatly arranged credit chips and data modules, each labeled, each presented as if organization could mask deficiency.
Vihl leans in slightly, his grin widening. “That’s cute.”
“It is sufficient,” Lorens replies.
I pick up one of the chips, turning it slowly between my fingers, feeling the weight, the balance, the subtle flaws in its construction.
“It’s counterfeit,” I say.
The room grows tense as a bowstring.
“That is a serious accusation,” Lorens says.
“It’s a simple observation,” I reply, setting the chip back down. “The encoding is wrong.”
“You have no proof.”
