Chapter 40 #2
I swallow against the boulder in my throat, lift my head, and search the room. Everyone stares. Not curious anymore. No, their expressions have hardened into hate, suspicion, judgment. The only sympathy I find is in Lou, but even she doesn’t step forward to defend me.
Jackson’s not done. He pivots to his real target. “Well, Carrson,” he booms theatrically, “what do you have to say? First you kill your own father. Then you bring in this outsider.” Jackson sneers, his lip curling. “This traitor.”
Traitor. I bristle. That word makes anger ripple up my spine and how dare he bring up Carrson’s father here in front of everyone.
I open my mouth to defend myself, to defend Carrson, but Lou catches my eye.
She gives a subtle shake of her head, urging me to stay out of it.
It takes everything in me to listen and swallow the words clawing up my throat.
But I do. Because she understands the rules of this place, and I’m learning them.
But still, it burns, sitting there under my skin.
Because stepping aside, letting Carrson handle this, feels a little too much like surrender.
Carrson turns to face Jackson head on, effectively blocking me out.
I see it happen, how quickly he processes the situation, how he grinds his jaw as he weighs his options. I’ve spent the past year, hell years, studying Carrson Ashford, so I know the moment he reaches a solution.
“Traitor?” he answers Jackson, his voice cold.
“I don’t see a traitor.” He points a finger at me. “I see a woman smart enough to find The Order.” He takes a step closer to me. “Bold enough to track us down and strong enough to belong.”
His voice doesn’t waver, and I understand why it can’t. He’s not just fighting for me at this moment but for himself, for the future of the Ashford name.
“I’ve not brought weakness into this house. I’ve brought strength. The kind we’ve been raised to admire, to recognize.” He takes a step toward me, sets his hand on my shoulder, and I draw comfort from his touch.
“I removed a threat when I took out my father.” His gaze sweeps the room, daring them to challenge him. No one does. “We all know he wasn’t fit to lead.”
“Now I’ve found and recruited a new member. An asset.” He lets those words hang as he surveys the crowd.
I see it then.
Not just who he is but who he’s becoming.
The change is obvious. It's in the way the room rearranges itself around him. Chairs angle toward him. Bodies too. No one interrupts. Even Jackson goes quiet, like he recognizes it.
Carrson has that air of power to him, as if his very DNA demands obedience.
My chest swells with pride as I picture it. How he’ll be a force, a true leader.
A man that soldiers follow and world leaders bow to.
Not because they’re told to.
Because they want to.
The crowd holds still, eyes flicking uneasily between Carrson and Jackson.
“Well,” Jackson says, stepping closer to me, his gaze on the crowd. “I guess that’s one way to spin it.”
A few uneasy chuckles ripple through the room, but they die quickly. No one’s sure which side they’re supposed to be on.
“Tell me, Carrson,” he adds, gesturing lazily toward the scattered papers at our feet, “when someone studies us from the outside, compiles records, maps, movements, we don’t reward that kind of behavior.
Right?” His gaze collides with Carrson’s.
“We make examples of it.” Jackson steps into Carrson’s space, using his height to stare down at him.
“You’re asking us to ignore the rules of The Order over a girl. ”
A girl, he says.
Like I’m not even worth naming. Too small. Unimportant.
My jaw locks as I force myself to stay where I am, to keep my mouth shut even though all I want is to tear him apart.
“That’s not strength.” Jackson shakes his head with disgust. “That’s weakness.”
Carrson doesn’t respond right away. He waits for the shuffling of the crowd to die down.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “She watched. She learned. She found patterns we’ve spent years pretending no one could see.
” He chuckles, as if Jackson’s said something funny or, better yet, foolish.
“You think that makes her a liability?” A step forward so he’s chest to chest with Jackson.
“Because from where I’m standing, it makes her the most capable person in this room. ”
A ripple moves through the crowd as they lean into each other, arguing quietly.
“If you’re so quick to call her a threat,” Carrson says, “maybe the problem isn’t what she did,” raising his voice enough to carry. “Maybe it’s that you didn’t see her coming. Or worse,” he adds quietly, “you did, and you couldn’t stop her.”
Carrson straightens, his gaze sweeping the room once more.
“This is what we’ve been raised to value,” he says. “Precision. Adaptation. Control.”
His hand squeezes my shoulder. “She has all three.”
Carrson’s attention returns to Jackson. “If that threatens you…” He draws out the pause. “You should ask yourself why.”
His words make my spine straighten and my shoulders square. Because if he believes in me like that, enough to stand here and say I belong in front of all of them, then what can they really do to me?
I lift my chin, meeting the room head-on.
Let them look.