Page 229 of Reaper Said Mine

He signed.

Not the emergency compact.

Not limited coordination.

The protectorate agreement.

The thing he had resisted, mocked, and feared from the beginning. The agreement that folded his territory under Coalition protection, Coalition access, Coalition military coordination, Coalition recognition, and Coalition leverage dressed up as salvation. The agreement I had spent days warning people could become a velvet leash around the throat of every Reaper on Guyver Station.

My fingers go numb.

Bellamy steps closer. “Ursa.”

I don’t answer.

The feed switches to an analyst panel, then to footage of Coalition ships entering Reaper lanes under formal escort. A smiling commentator says something about “a historic stabilization framework,” and the room tilts.

Stabilization.

That word again.

The word powerful people use when they do not want to say possession.

Senator Vale enters from the adjoining office, gray hair damp from the rain and face set in the grim expression of a woman who has spent her life expecting bad news and still resents being correct. “Is it confirmed?”

Pelt’s holo-window expands. Her jaw is tight. “Multiple channels confirm. Coalition diplomatic office, Guyver Station public channel, two neutral trade relays, and an Alliance monitoring bulletin. It is real.”

Milton lowers his cup. “Well, that complicates our righteous little crusade.”

Bellamy shoots him a look. “Could you maybe not sound delighted?”

“I am not delighted. I am professionally horrified.”

I still cannot look away from the screen.

Gnash stands beside Theryki while diplomatic language rolls beneath him. His expression reveals nothing. No rage, no triumph, no shame, no apology. To everyone watching, he looks exactly like the man they keep trying to make him. A warlord choosing power. A monster choosing an alliance of convenience. A dangerous ruler trading independence for weapons and legitimacy while the galaxy holds its breath.

To me, he looks like a door closing.

Gail turns toward me. “Did he warn you?”

The question enters the room like a blade.

I force my mouth to move. “No.”

Bellamy says, “He might not have had time.”

I finally look at him. “He had time to sign his name.”

Bellamy flinches, and immediately I hate myself for it, but the anger has nowhere else to go. It burns through me too fast to shape into anything fair.

My compad lies on the table beside the evidence drive.

Silent.

No message from Gnash.

No explanation.