They’re listening now.
Really listening.
“This is permanence,” I say.
No one argues.
Not immediately.
Because they can see it.
Because they understand what it means.
Not just for her.
For all of it.
“You remove the ability to take it back,” one of them says slowly.
“Yes,” I reply.
“And in doing that,” he continues, his voice quieter, more thoughtful now, “you remove the instability.”
“Yes.”
Silence settles again.
But this time?—
It’s different.
“You’re changing everything,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And you’re certain,” he adds.
I glance at Stacy.
Then back at him.
“Yes.”
The word lands clean.
Final.
And this time?—
No one challenges it.
CHAPTER 36
STACY
The chamber smells like hot metal, old blood, and the bitter smoke of ceremonial resin burning too close to the ventilation intake.
It curls through the air in gray-blue ribbons, clinging to the high black ribs of the ceiling before the ship’s circulation system drags it apart and feeds it back down over all of us. The scent coats my tongue when I breathe, sharp enough to taste, and beneath it lives the heavier animal warmth of the gathered clan: armor heated by bodies, oiled leather, polished bone, weapon grips worn smooth by hands that have ended arguments more brutally than words ever could. Every sound carries farther than it should in this room. Boots scrape against metal decking. Claws tap once, then go still. A low murmur rolls and collapses into itself as more Reapers turn their heads toward the central dais.
