The words hit the room and settle there, heavy and intentional.
My weight shifts forward before I consciously decide to move.
I step into the light.
Not fast.
Not hesitant.
Each step lands evenly, the sound of it carrying just enough to draw every eye in the room. The floor is cool beneath my feet, grounding in a way that steadies the movement, keeps it controlled.
“You brought nothing into this negotiation,” Lorens continues, his hand cutting sharply through the air in my direction. “She is irrelevant.”
“No,” I say.
The word slips in cleanly, not louder than his, but sharper, cutting across his sentence before it finishes settling.
I feel it in the way the air shifts, in the way the servants along the walls stop moving entirely, in the way even Vihl’s posture changes slightly as his attention narrows.
I step fully into the center of the room, stopping at a distance that holds position without crowding it.
“I am not irrelevant,” I say.
Lorens’ eyes flash. “You will not speak.”
“I am already speaking.”
My voice stays level, steady, even as the tension tightens.
“Return to your room,” he says, his tone dropping.
“No.”
The word sits between us, quiet and unmoving.
I turn my head slightly, shifting my focus away from him and onto the Reaper, because that is where the weight of the room has moved. Up close, the difference is more pronounced,something in the way he stands that does not rely on acknowledgment to exist.
“You asked what I am,” I say.
His gaze fixes on me, steady and direct.
“I did.”
“I am a Companion Academy graduate,” I say. “Trained in negotiation, behavioral analysis, and adaptive response.”
Lorens lets out a sharp breath behind me. “You are overstating your function.”
“I am clarifying it.”
I don’t look at him.
I don’t need to.
“You’re inventory,” Vihl says, his tone edged with curiosity.
“Yes,” I reply, flicking a glance toward him before returning my focus. “High-function inventory.”
Lorens steps closer, the movement abrupt. “She is not part of this discussion.”
