Chapter 24 Lonari #2
Tarsen inclines his head like he’s acknowledging a simple fact. “Jordan is the catalyst. The Nine views her as the breach.”
Jasker’s mouth twitches. “They’ll take her.”
Tarsen’s tone is almost sympathetic. “Captain, they will take her regardless. The only question is whether you are the one delivering her… or the one being buried under the fallout.”
The room goes very still.
Jasker’s voice turns quiet. “If I give her to them… I get amnesty.”
“You get a future,” Tarsen says.
Jasker nods once, like he just signed his soul with a shrug. “She’ll be in the Nun. Under Lonari’s protection.”
Tarsen’s smile is calm. “Then we arrange an extraction. Quiet. Clean. No blood in the casino.”
Jasker’s jaw tightens. “And Lonari?”
Tarsen’s eyes don’t blink. “Lonari can keep his throne. For now. Once the human is removed, the Nine’s pressure eases. Tribute can resume through… more responsible hands.”
Jasker’s lips curl. “Mine.”
Tarsen doesn’t deny it.
Jordan’s voice comes through my comm, shaking with fury. “He’s selling me.”
“Yes,” I say, and my own voice stays steady only because I’ve trained it to. “Now watch what happens next.”
Because this is the moment.
The moment where a captain decides a person is a bargaining chip.
The moment where the Nine thinks it owns the board.
I push off the corridor wall and walk to the suite door with measured steps. I don’t rush. I don’t roar. I don’t slam my fist.
I let the door scanner read my biometrics and comply like it’s always been mine.
The lock clicks.
Inside, their conversation pauses as if someone hit mute.
I open the door and step into the room.
Warm air wraps around me—perfume, polished wood, the faint bite of expensive alcohol.
My senses catalog everything in a heartbeat: the way Jasker’s hand twitches toward his coat, the way Tarsen’s posture stays relaxed but his eyes sharpen, the way the vent above them holds the tiny lens Sable planted.
I close the door behind me gently.
“Evening,” I say, voice mild. “Am I interrupting a little negotiation?”
Jasker’s face drains of color. “Lonari—”
“Tarsen,” I say, ignoring him, eyes on the Coalition official. “You should’ve picked a room with better exits.”
Tarsen smiles like he’s not surprised. “Acting Godfather Kaijen. I didn’t expect you to attend personally.”
“I don’t let people shop for my possessions without me present,” I say pleasantly.
Jasker bristles. “She’s not your—”
I flick my gaze to him and the words die in his throat.
Tarsen tilts his head. “We were discussing regional stability.”
“Sure,” I say. “And by stability you mean you were arranging to sell a human woman to the Nine.”
Tarsen’s smile flickers—just a hairline crack. “That’s an allegation.”
“Is it?” I ask. I gesture toward the table. “Jasker, tell me what you just agreed to.”
Jasker’s eyes dart. “I didn’t—”
I take one slow step forward. The air tastes like tension now, sharp and electric.
“I’m giving you one chance,” I say quietly. “You confess, on record, what you planned. Or I take your tongue and let the Nine wonder why you suddenly went silent.”
Tarsen’s eyes widen slightly at the rawness under my calm tone. Jasker looks like he might vomit.
His voice shakes. “Lonari—listen—”
“No,” I say. “You listen.”
I tap my slate and project the audio feed transcript above the table—word for word, timestamped.
Jasker’s throat works. His shoulders sag a fraction. “I… I agreed to deliver Jordan. To the Nine. In exchange for amnesty and territory.”
The confession hangs in the room like smoke.
Jordan’s voice crackles in my ear, stunned and furious and hurt all at once. “Holy—”
I keep my eyes on Jasker. “Why?”
He flinches. “Because you’re going to get us all killed. Because you suspended tribute. Because you—”
“Because you’re a coward,” I say, and my voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be. “Because you looked at a woman like she’s a crate of goods. Because you thought your skin mattered more than your oath.”
Tarsen exhales softly. “This doesn’t need to become violent.”
I turn my gaze to him slowly. “Oh, it won’t,” I say. “Not in the way you’re hoping.”
I look back at Jasker.
“Publicly,” I say, “you live.”
Jasker’s eyes flick up, disbelieving. “You—”
“You live,” I repeat. “Because death is simple. Death makes martyrs. Death gives your friends excuses. But what I’m going to do to you is worse.”
I step closer until he has to tilt his head back to look at me.
“You’re stripped,” I say. “Rank. assets. territory. people. Your name is removed from every ledger and every hallway. You become a ghost that still breathes.”
Jasker’s mouth opens. “You can’t—”
“I can,” I say. “And I will.”
I turn to the door and speak into the corridor without raising my voice.
“Rook,” I call.
The door opens immediately and Rook steps in, expression blank, weapon not visible but absolutely present.
“Take Captain Jasker,” I say. “Strip him. Audit him. Freeze every account, seize every ship, every warehouse. Send his lieutenants new assignments. If any of them resist, they join him in exile.”
Rook nods once. “Understood.”
Jasker lurches to his feet. “Lonari, please—”
I don’t look at him. “Remove him.”
Rook takes him by the arm. Jasker jerks like an animal caught in a snare, but he’s weakened by fear, and fear makes men clumsy.
As they drag him out, his voice cracks. “You’re making a mistake! The Nine—”
“The Nine can choke,” I say softly.
The door shuts behind them.
Now it’s just me and Tarsen.
He studies me, his calm mask settling back into place. “Impressive,” he says. “You’re very controlled for a man whose syndicate is bleeding.”
I smile, all teeth this time. “Control is how you win.”
Tarsen’s gaze flicks to the projection still floating above the table. “You recorded everything.”
“I record everything,” I say.
His smile grows thin. “Then you know this doesn’t end here.”
“I do,” I agree. “And you’re going to leave this building and tell whoever sent you that Jordan James is not for sale.”
Tarsen’s eyes narrow. “And if I don’t?”
I step closer, just enough that he can smell me—smoke, steel, and the faint metallic edge of threat.
“Then the next time you offer protection,” I say, voice low, “it’ll be to yourself. From me.”
He holds my gaze. Then he nods once, slow. “Noted.”
He stands, smooth, careful. “May I go?”
“Yes,” I say. “But first—empty your pockets.”
A beat.
Tarsen’s smile twitches. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say.
He hesitates, then slowly reaches into his coat and pulls out a slim comm stick, sets it on the table.
“Anything else,” I prompt.
He sighs and adds a folded cred-slate. “That’s all.”
I keep my eyes on him. “Good. Now go.”
He leaves without another word.
When the door closes, I exhale slowly and finally allow my shoulders to drop a fraction.
Jordan’s voice is in my ear, tight. “Lonari.”
“Yeah,” I say.
Her words come out raw. “Thank you.”
I swallow. “Don’t thank me yet.”
Because I’m already thinking about the next move.
I cross to the table, pick up the comm stick Tarsen left, then glance down at the floor where Jasker stood.
Something glints near the chair leg.
I crouch and pick it up.
A small, old-fashioned transmit chip—cheap casing, but the coding on its surface makes my scales prickle.
Nine encryption.
I roll it between my claws, then slot it into my slate.
A schedule blooms in the holo projection.
EXTRACTION WINDOW: MORAZIN VALEER
TIMING: WITHIN 72 HOURS
ROUTE: CLASSIFIED
HANDOFF: INTERNAL AUTHORITY CHANNELS
My chest tightens.
Jordan’s voice whispers, “What is it?”
“It’s a death sentence disguised as logistics,” I say.
I stand and stare at the glowing timeline.
They’re planning to extract Morazin.
Not rescue him.
Not relocate him.
Extract him like a tumor.
Within seventy-two hours.
Because dead witnesses don’t testify.
I open a secure channel to my operations lead.
“Change of plan,” I say.
He answers instantly. “Talk.”
“Two fronts,” I tell him. “Jordan stays mobile and secured. No predictable patterns. Double escorts. Ghostline only.”
“Understood.”
“And Morazin,” I say, voice hardening. “We break him out first.”
A pause. “That fast?”
“Yes,” I say. “Because the Nine is already scheduling his disappearance. If he vanishes, the hearing Jordan wants becomes a fairy tale.”
Another beat.
Then my lead says, low, “We’ll need a team.”
“We have a team,” I say. “We have motivation. We have time counting down like a bomb.”
I end the call and turn my attention back to my comm with Jordan.
She’s quiet. I can hear her breathing, controlled but fast.
“You saw it,” I say.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I saw all of it.”
I close my eyes for half a second. The room still smells like polished lies, but underneath it, I can taste the sharp metallic tang of the Nine’s grip tightening.
“They’re coming,” Jordan says softly. “For me. For him. For you.”
I open my eyes.
“Let them,” I say.
I step out of Suite Twelve and into the corridor, and the cool air hits my face like a slap.
Behind me, the trap has sprung.
Ahead of me, the war has just gotten personal.