“I don’t need proof,” I say. “I need accuracy.”
One of my crew steps forward, scanning the contents of the case, projecting the results for everyone to see.
Verification failure.
Repeated.
Public.
“You’re in debt,” Vihl says, his tone almost conversational. “And you tried to pay it with lies.”
“This is a misunderstanding,” Lorens insists.
“No,” I say. “This is a pattern.”
I step closer, letting the pressure build without raising my voice.
“You delayed payment. You misrepresented assets. You attempted to settle with counterfeit value,” I continue. “At what point did you think this would work?”
“I have other resources,” he says.
“I’m sure you do,” I reply. “The question is whether they’re real.”
“And now?” he asks.
I let the silence stretch.
“Now we renegotiate,” I say.
Relief flashes across his face.
There it is.
Weakness.
“We can reach an agreement,” he says quickly.
“Everything you have,” Vihl says.
“That is not reasonable,” Lorens snaps.
“Neither is fraud,” I reply.
Then something shifts.
It is subtle at first, barely perceptible beneath the noise of the room, but I feel it anyway, like a change in pressure before a storm. My attention pulls without conscious thought, drawn toward something that does not align with everything else here.
I turn slightly.
And I see her.
She stands near the edge of the room, not hidden and not presented, simply present in a way that disrupts the structure around her. Her posture is composed, her expression neutral, but there is tension beneath it, something held so tightly it creates presence instead of absence. She does not react like the others, does not display fear or submission in any recognizable way, and that lack of expected behavior becomes its own signal.
Her gaze is steady, deliberate, and unmistakably aware, and I realize she is not simply witnessing what is happening; she is assessing it. There is no panic in her, no attempt to disappearinto the background, and no performative calm meant to placate the situation. What she carries instead is something quieter and far more dangerous, a stillness that suggests calculation rather than compliance.
“What are you looking at?” Vihl murmurs under his breath.
I do not answer immediately, because I am still processing what I am seeing and what it implies. Lorens is still speaking, still trying to negotiate terms that no longer matter, but his voice has become background noise, stripped of relevance by the shift in my focus.
