She doesn’t hesitate.
She walks in like she already owns the space.
And the room?—
Shifts.
It’s immediate.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
But undeniable.
“What is this,” one of the leaders says, his voice tightening as he straightens in his seat, his gaze locking onto her with something between confusion and offense.
“She shouldn’t be here,” another adds, sharper, the old structure asserting itself automatically.
I don’t speak.
I don’t interrupt.
Because this?—
This isn’t mine.
This is hers.
Stacy doesn’t look at them immediately.
She walks forward, slow, deliberate, her posture straight, her expression calm, like every step is placed exactly where it needs to be.
When she reaches the center?—
Beside me?—
That’s when she looks at them.
“You’re reacting like this is unexpected,” she says, her voice even, carrying across the chamber without effort, without strain.
“It is,” one of them snaps, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t walk into this chamber uninvited.”
“I wasn’t uninvited,” she replies.
That pulls attention back toward me.
I don’t move.
I don’t confirm it.
I don’t need to.
“She’s not part of this structure,” another leader says, his tone tightening as he tries to reassert control over something that’s already slipping.
“No,” Stacy agrees.
That throws him.
