Page 232 of Reaper Said Mine

“They needed shields, medicine, fighters, evacuation corridors, and ships I did not have.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” The hurt in his voice is rough enough to scrape. “Because from Earth, every choice looks like a clause. From here, it looks like a boy named Tomas covering his ears while a shelter door fuses shut.”

My throat tightens.

I want to tell him he is being unfair. I want to tell him I have been sleeping in chairs, dodging legal threats, turning my childhood into armor, and bleeding myself dry trying to keep his people from being turned into a justification for war. I want to tell him I am not sitting safely behind glass judging him by abstract principles.

But I am behind glass.

He is in the smoke.

That difference matters even when it does not make him right.

“What are the terms?” I ask.

His expression shutters.

“That is not why I called.”

“It is why you should have called before signing.”

A muscle shifts in his jaw.

“The terms preserve internal civil administration under Guyver authority, recognize Reaper territorial management, create Coalition defense obligations, provide full humanitarian corridors, and establish joint strategic operations during the crisis.”

“Joint strategic operations,” I repeat.

“Limited.”

“Defined by whom?”

“By the agreement.”

“Written by Theryki.”

“And amended by Skahar, Vakka, and me.”

I laugh once, short and humorless. “You trusted Theryki with a knife near your throat because she promised the blade was only decorative?”

His crimson eyes flash. “I trusted no one. I chose the blade I could see.”

The room around me feels too tight.

Pelt unmutes herself. “Ask him whether Coalition command has automatic corridor access beyond civilian evacuation lanes.”

Gnash’s gaze shifts to the holo-window. “Who is that?”

“Someone trying to prevent intervention plans from turning into orders,” I say.

His attention returns to me. “Alliance intervention?”

“Yes. They’re already drafting frameworks.”

His face changes.

There it is.