Page 172 of Reaper Said Mine

The room goes still.

Zune’s smile tightens. “I did no such thing.”

“Your call was recorded.”

His legal aide stiffens.

Theryki’s gaze snaps to Zune. Gobold mutters something foul. Wilcox closes her eyes like a woman watching a bridge collapse exactly where she warned it would.

Zune recovers quickly. “I offered concern. Ms. Ramone is operating under unusual emotional strain and questionable influence. It would be irresponsible not to address the risks.”

“You said if something unfortunate happened to her, there would be many plausible narratives.”

Murmurs break around the room.

Zune’s eyes harden. “A hypothetical observation.”

“You said expense is relative.”

“Again, taken out of context.”

I take one step closer.

His security men move.

Vakka’s people move faster. Pulse carbines rise from three angles. The security men stop with admirable survival instincts.

Zune’s face changes then. Not fear yet. Calculation. He sees the room, the witnesses, the diplomats, the armed guards, the political value of looking like the civilized man before the monster.

So he chooses his blade.

“You are proving my point,” he says, voice louder now. “Look at you. A Reaper warlord looming over a civilian representative because he dislikes being questioned. Is this the authority the Coalition intends to recognize? Is this the stability the Alliance fears? A creature ruled by appetite, claiming a human journalist as if she were spoils and then raging when anyone expresses concern for her welfare?”

The word creature passes through the chamber like a match thrown into vapor.

Skahar says, very quietly, “Boy.”

I hear him.

I hear Ursa in memory too.

Don’t give them what they want.

My hands remain at my sides.

Zune sees restraint and mistakes it for weakness.

He leans closer, smile returning. “You cannot protect her from the truth. When this ends, she will be remembered as another tragic survivor who mistook trauma for courage and confused captivity with love.”

The world goes silent.

Not because sound stops, but because something inside me does.

For years, I have killed in rage. Killed in necessity. Killed because a man stood between my people and another dawn. This is different. The fury is there, vast and red, but beneath it sits a colder thing. He threatened her. He threatened her work, her mind, her grief, and the truth she bled to drag into light. He made clear that her life was a cost he could calculate.

And if I let him leave this room, he will make that calculation again.

I move.