They expected blood.
Prison sentences.
Public disgrace.
Total annihilation.
I could've delivered all of it.
But power isn't proven by how much you destroy.
It's proven by what you don't need to.
—
I called in one person.
Just one.
Not my sister.
Not him.
Someone smaller.
Someone forgotten.
—
She sat across from me, hands shaking.
"I didn't start it," she said quickly. "I just… followed."
I believed her.
That was the problem.
—
"You had a choice," I said calmly.
She nodded, tears slipping down her face.
"I know."
—
I slid a document across the table.
Immunity.
Limited.
Conditional.
Her breath caught.
"Why?" she whispered.
I met her eyes.
"Because you'll live knowing you were spared," I said. "And you'll remember who had the power to end you—and didn't."
That weight would never leave her.
—
She signed.
Her hand trembled so badly the pen scratched.
—
When she left, I burned the copy of the final file.
Not all of it.
Just enough.
—
The rest I locked away.
Insurance.
Leverage.
A reminder.
—
Mercy unsettles people more than cruelty.
They can understand hatred.
They can't understand restraint.
—
That night, I slept deeply.
No dreams.
No ghosts.
—
I woke up free.
—