Chapter 6 #2
He’s older than I remember, or maybe just more broken. A life-support mask covers the lower half of his face, tubing running to a discreet unit by his chair. His scales are dull. His eyes, when they lift to meet mine, are sharp but haunted, like something has been living behind them and whispering.
He doesn’t stand.
He doesn’t smile.
He just stares at me like I’m a nightmare that learned to walk.
“You,” he says, voice distorted slightly by the mask.
“Me,” I reply.
For a moment, nobody speaks. The room hums quietly with machinery. Somewhere distant, the casino music thumps like an echo.
Then Kel’s gaze flicks to Jordan.
“And who is this?” he asks.
Jordan straightens, chin lifting the way humans do when they’re trying to look braver than they feel. “Jordan James,” she says. “I’m—”
“She’s under my protection,” I cut in.
Kel’s eyes narrow. “Protection.”
“Yes,” I say.
“From whom?” Kel asks, voice soft.
“From anyone stupid,” I answer.
Kel’s gaze holds mine. His fingers tap once on the desk—an old habit I recognize, but the rhythm is off. Nervous. Uncertain.
Renn clears his throat behind me. “Godfather, the situation—”
Kel raises a hand and Renn shuts up instantly.
Then, from the shadowed corner of the room, someone moves.
A figure steps forward with a slow, deliberate ease, like he owns the air.
Fratvoyan. Small body, thick fur, dressed in a suit that probably costs more than most ships. His eyes glitter with intelligence and appetite. Rings gleam on his fingers. He smiles like a man who has never once been told no.
Jordan stiffens beside me. I feel it.
Kel doesn’t look at him, but his shoulders tense.
“Lonari,” the Fratvoyan says, voice smooth, almost cheerful. “Welcome home.”
My stomach tightens in a different way now.
“Glar,” I say, keeping my tone flat.
“The Nine send their regards,” Glar adds, as if he’s bringing flowers to a funeral.
Jordan whispers, barely moving her mouth, “Who is that?”
I don’t take my eyes off Glar. “Trouble.”
Glar’s gaze flicks to Jordan, then back to me. “And you’ve brought a guest.”
“She’s not for sale,” I say.
Glar chuckles. “Everything’s for sale. The trick is just agreeing on the price.”
Kel’s tapping stops abruptly.
“Enough,” Kel says sharply. His eyes cut to me. “You will not pursue Yatori.”
The words land hard, like a door slammed in my face.
Jordan’s head snaps toward Kel. “Excuse me?”
Kel ignores her. “You will not speak of it. You will not investigate it. You will return to your place in the family and you will obey.”
I stare at him. “Why?”
Kel’s eyes flicker—just a flicker—toward Glar.
That’s the answer.
Jordan steps forward, voice rising. “People were executed. Civilians. This was staged—”
I put an arm out, stopping her without touching her, a barrier of space and warning.
“Jordan,” I say quietly.
She glares up at me. “No. Don’t ‘Jordan’ me. He just told you to ignore a massacre like it’s—”
“Like it’s business,” I finish for her, still calm. “Because here, it is.”
Kel’s gaze sharpens at her anger. “Human,” he says, and the word drips with something between disdain and caution. “You don’t understand the currents you’ve stepped into.”
Jordan’s laugh is sharp and bitter. “I understand a cover-up when I see one.”
Glar smiles wider. “Oh, I like her.”
“I don’t care what you like,” I snap, and my voice finally shows teeth.
Kel’s hand lifts again, palm down—command.
“Lonari,” Kel says, voice low and deadly. “You will stand down.”
I take a slow breath, tasting incense and old power and the faint sterile tang of the life-support mask. I look at Kel—at the way his eyes avoid mine for half a second, at the stiffness in his posture, at the fear threaded through him like a hidden wire.
This isn’t the Kel I remember.
This is someone wearing his seat.
My gaze slides to the financial dashboards hovering near the ceiling.
Tribute accounts.
Nine tribute ledgers.
Numbers scroll in sleek columns.
And one number punches me in the gut: the tribute outflow has nearly doubled since I was sentenced.
I keep my face neutral, but inside something cold blooms.
Because tribute doesn’t rise unless someone is squeezing.
Unless someone is draining the family.
Unless someone is steering.
Kel notices my glance and stiffens. “Do not look at that.”
I look at it anyway.
Jordan follows my gaze, eyes narrowing. “What is that?”
“Nothing,” Kel says too fast.
Glar laughs softly. “It’s everything.”
I turn back to Kel, voice quiet now, dangerous in its restraint. “You’ve been paying them that much?”
Kel’s eyes flash. “It is the cost of stability.”
“No,” I say. “It’s the cost of obedience.”
Kel’s mask hisses faintly, like it’s offended by my tone. “You will not audit those accounts.”
Audit.
The word lands like a dare.
I nod once, slow. “Sure.”
Kel’s eyes narrow. “Sure?”
“Sure,” I repeat, smooth as oil.
Jordan looks between us, confused and furious. “You’re just… accepting this?”
I lean slightly toward her, voice low enough that only she can hear. “No.”
Her eyes widen. “Then what are you doing?”
“Buying time,” I murmur.
Kel leans back slightly, tension easing by a fraction as he believes he’s reasserted control. “Good,” he says. “Then we understand each other.”
Glar steps closer, looking up at me with amusement that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome back to the family, Lonari. We’ve missed your… discipline.”
I stare down at him. “Get out of my air.”
Glar’s smile never wavers. “Careful. You’re not in the wilderness anymore.”
I hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch until it becomes uncomfortable.
Then Kel speaks again, voice final. “Jordan stays here until we decide what to do with her.”
Jordan stiffens. “Excuse me—”
“No,” I say, sharper.
Kel’s eyes snap to mine.
“She stays under my protection,” I repeat, and this time the room feels it. The guards shift. Renn’s breath catches behind me. Even Glar’s smile thins slightly.
Kel’s mask hisses again. “You make demands as if you still hold authority.”
I step forward, just one pace, and the room tightens around the movement. “I’m not making a demand,” I say. “I’m stating a fact.”
Kel’s eyes flick toward Glar again, and I see it—fear, real fear, the kind Kel never used to wear.
He’s leashed.
And I want to rip the leash out with my teeth.
But not yet.
Not in front of Glar.
Not with Jordan standing here, too valuable and too fragile to be caught in the first swing.
So I do what I’ve learned to do in prison: I smile without warmth.
“I’ll stand down,” I say, voice even. “For now.”
Kel exhales, shoulders easing as if he’s survived something.
Glar chuckles. “That’s better.”
Jordan looks at me like she wants to set me on fire.
I meet her gaze and give her the smallest shake of my head.
Not here.
Not now.
Kel gestures toward Renn. “Get them quarters. Secure ones. And keep the human watched.”
Jordan bristles at the word watched, but she doesn’t argue—not yet.
Renn nods stiffly. “Yes, Godfather.”
I turn to leave, guiding Jordan with a subtle pressure of presence, not touch.
As the doors slide shut behind us, I keep my face calm.
Inside, my mind is already moving.
Tribute accounts doubled.
Kel leashed to the Nine.
Glar sitting in the Godfather’s room like he belongs there.
And Yatori—staged, silent, surgical.
No.
I’m not standing down.
I’m just starting quiet.
As we walk the corridor back toward the casino floor, I lean slightly toward Renn, voice low.
“Get me access to the internal ledgers,” I say. “All of them. Old records too. Medical logs. Security footage. Succession memos.”
Renn swallows. “Lonari… the Nine—”
“I don’t care,” I say softly. “I want everything.”
Renn’s eyes flick nervously toward the ceiling as if the walls have ears.
They do.
So I smile again, easy, like I’m a man returning home to play his role.
And while the Nun’s music swells and the casino lights glitter like a thousand lies, I begin quietly digging my fingers into the family’s bones, searching for where the rot started—because if Kel won’t let me pursue Yatori, then I’ll pursue the reason he’s afraid of it.
And I will tear the truth out of this place the same way I tore it out of the wilderness.
One careful piece at a time.