Just enough.
“But I am part of what it’s becoming,” she continues.
Silence follows.
Sharp.
Focused.
“What you are,” the first speaker says slowly, his voice dropping into something more deliberate, more cautious, “is a variable that shouldn’t exist in this context.”
Stacy tilts her head slightly, studying him.
“That’s because your context is outdated,” she says.
That lands harder than anything I said.
Because it doesn’t come from inside their structure.
It comes from outside it.
“You’re speaking like you have authority here,” another leader says, his tone sharpening.
“I do,” she replies.
“Based on what,” he demands.
She doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead—
She moves.
Her hand lifts slowly, and every eye in the room tracks it, every fragment of attention narrowing as her fingers reach the collar at her throat.
“What are you doing,” someone says, his voice lower now, uncertain.
Stacy doesn’t look at him.
Her gaze stays forward.
Her fingers settle against the clasp.
“You built an entire system around this,” she says, her voice quieter now, but somehow carrying more weight. “Around what it represents. Ownership. Control. Temporary value.”
No one moves.
No one interrupts.
Because they know what this is.
And they don’t understand what she’s about to do with it.
“You made it the symbol of power,” she continues, her thumb pressing lightly against the mechanism.
I don’t move.
I don’t stop her.
