Parking Level Two smelled like gasoline and bleach.
A temporary command post made of folding tables and portable floodlights. Cables taped to concrete. A microphone on a stand that belonged in a press room, not a garage.
They'd built a stage for a leash.
Nora walked in first.
Not because Mercer asked.
Because she decided the camera angle.
Kaelen followed half a step behind her, heat held in a disciplined line. No weapon. No bag. Nothing in his hands except the promise of violence he wasn't using.
Zane moved to Nora's left, quiet as a shadow that had learned manners.
Rix stayed a few paces back, off to the side where the light didn't fully reach. He looked bored. He looked like he could bite through the concrete if he wanted.
Every eye tracked Nora anyway.
Body cams.
A drone hovering near the ceiling beams, red light blinking.
Two handheld cameras.
A man in a suit with a Bureau badge who kept checking his watch like the world could be scheduled into obedience.
Mercer stood at the center, rifle slung, folder in hand, face built out of control.
"Thank you for cooperating," he said into the microphone.
His voice echoed off the concrete and came back wrong.
Nora didn't flinch.
"State the purpose," she said, loud enough for the mics.
Mercer's eyes tightened—tiny irritation that she wouldn't play victim.
"Public reassurance," Mercer said. "Stability verification. Proof that the subject—"
Kaelen's temperature spiked at the word.
Nora lifted two fingers.
Kaelen stopped the heat where it was, like he was biting down on it.
Mercer swallowed the rest and changed the phrasing.
"—that Kaelen," Mercer corrected, "will comply with safety procedures under your direction."
Nora looked at the cameras.
"Under my direction," she repeated.
And because she was learning, she added:
"Not yours."
A small ripple moved through the gathered officers. A shift of weight. A tightening of grips.
Zane's mouth curved faintly.
Rix's smile was all teeth.
Mercer kept his face neutral with effort.
He lifted a hand. Two medics rolled a case forward. The latch snapped open.
Inside was the collar.
Thick, matte black, embedded sensors like dead eyes.
A leash with a clean name.
"Restraint protocol," Mercer said. "Non-lethal. Standard."
Nora's stomach tightened anyway.
She'd seen that collar before.
She'd seen the way men said non-lethal and meant control.
Mercer turned slightly so the cameras could catch it.
"Miss Nora," he said, voice smooth for the record, "please instruct Kaelen to accept the collar. Then instruct him to kneel. Then instruct him to allow his hands to be secured."
Three steps.
Three cuts.
Turn king into footage.
Turn Nora into the hand holding the chain.
Nora didn't answer right away.
She stepped closer to the open case.
Not to take it.
To make sure every camera had a clear shot.
Then she looked at Mercer.
"You first," she said.
Mercer blinked. "Ma'am?"
"Put it on," Nora said, calm. "If it's standard. If it's safe. If it's 'non-lethal.'"
A breath of silence.
The man in the suit stiffened. "That is not appropriate—"
"It's appropriate," Nora replied, eyes still on Mercer. "Because you're asking me to prove stability while you refuse to prove your tool isn't cruelty."
Mercer's jaw flexed.
He glanced at the cameras.
He couldn't laugh it off. Not now. Not with yesterday's clip still climbing.
He stepped closer to the case, fingers hovering.
Then he stopped.
Of course he did.
Zane's voice carried, soft but clear enough to catch. "He won't. Because it's not for safety. It's for ownership."
Rix made a low sound of approval.
Kaelen didn't move.
But Nora could read him—every muscle held on a wire.
Waiting.
Watching.
Nora turned to Kaelen.
Close enough that the cameras had to choose again.
Her face, or his.
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't need to.
"Kneel," she said.The command left a copper taste on her tongue—then a tight, bright throb behind her eyes.
The word landed like gravity in the garage.
Kaelen's knee hit concrete.
Not slowly.
Not reluctantly.
Instant.
A choice made the moment she spoke.
He didn't look at Mercer.
He didn't look at the collar.
He looked at Nora, like obedience was a private language.
The cameras drank it.
The drone hummed.
Nora stepped in front of him and lifted her hand.
She brushed her knuckles through his hair once—light.
A reward.
Not a performance.
Kaelen's eyes closed for half a second, like he'd been starving and she'd finally let him taste.
Zane's gaze sharpened.
Rix's smile thinned, possessive in a different way.
Mercer's face stayed neutral, but his throat bobbed.
"Now," Mercer said carefully into the mic, "instruct him to accept restraint protocol."
Nora didn't move her hand away from Kaelen's hair.
She looked straight at the cameras.
"No," she said.
The word landed harder than any command.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Mercer's eyes narrowed. "Ma'am, this is the condition of negotiation—"
"This," Nora said, cutting him off, "is the condition of my cooperation."
She turned slightly so every lens could see her face.
Her calm.
Her refusal.
"This is what stability looks like," she said. "Not chains. Not compliance tools. Choice."
Mercer's jaw tightened.
The man in the suit took a half-step forward, desperate to regain control.
"Miss Nora, you are being unreasonable—"
Nora didn't look at him.
She didn't have to.
Zane spoke instead, voice like a lock clicking. "Don't raise your voice. The cameras will remember who escalated."
The suit froze.
Nora kept her gaze on Mercer.
"You want a demonstration," she said. "Fine."
She lifted her hand, fingers hovering over Kaelen's cheek.
Kaelen went stiller.
As if touch was the true command.
"Kaelen," Nora said, and she didn't need to pay his name. It was already his tether. "Hands."
Kaelen opened his hands, palms up, empty.
"Breathe."
He inhaled, controlled.
"Look at me."
His gaze snapped to hers.
The air in the garage shifted.
Not because of violence.
Because of the absence of it.
Because a monster with the strength to burn a city was choosing not to, because a woman asked him.
Nora held that moment.
Long enough for the cameras to get it.
Long enough for the officers to understand the difference between control and partnership.
Then she spoke to the room.
"Here is the rule," Nora said. "He obeys me."
She paused.
Not for drama.
For clarity.
"He does not obey you," she continued. "He will not be restrained by you. If you attempt to restrain him, you are choosing escalation."
Mercer's eyes hardened.
"That's not acceptable," he said.
Nora's smile was thin.
"Then you don't get him stable," she replied.
Rix's low laugh skated along the concrete. "She said it."
Kaelen's gaze darkened, pride and hunger braided together.
Zane's expression didn't change, but Nora saw it—approval, buried.
Mercer looked at the cameras again.
At the drone.
At the clip climbing online.
At the fact that if he pushed now, he'd look like the villain in high definition.
He adjusted his approach.
"Fine," Mercer said into the mic, voice tight. "Then instruct him to disarm."
"Disarm from what?" Nora asked.
Mercer's jaw flexed. "From… potential."
Nora almost laughed.
Instead, she made it simple.
"Stand," she said to Kaelen.
Kaelen rose in one smooth motion, never taking his eyes off her.
"Behind me," Nora added.
Kaelen moved behind her.
Not in front.
Not between her and danger like an automatic shield.
Behind her, as she'd taught him.
A line drawn in flesh and choice.
Nora faced Mercer again.
"There," she said. "Disarmed."
Because the most dangerous thing Kaelen had been holding was the right to decide on his own.
And he'd placed that decision in her hands.
Mercer's mouth tightened. "We need assurances."
"You have them," Nora said. "On record."
She pointed at the cameras.
"Ask your questions," she said. "I'll answer. Request only."
The man in the suit looked furious.
The medics looked relieved.
Lin—the tech from yesterday—stood near the table, tablet in hand, eyes wide like he'd never seen a negotiation win against guns.
Mercer nodded once, sharp.
"Then here's the request," Mercer said. "If an officer approaches you for medical evaluation, will Kaelen allow contact?"
Nora's mind moved fast.
Trap.
If she said yes, they'd interpret it as permission to push. If she said no, they'd label her uncooperative and escalate later.
She needed a rule with teeth.
"Yes," Nora said.
Mercer's eyes flashed—victory.
Nora didn't let him keep it.
"Yes," she repeated, "if I say yes."
Mercer's jaw tightened.
Nora looked at the cameras.
"Consent," she said. "That's the leash you'll accept."
Kaelen's heat surged, pleased.
Rix shifted, restless.
Zane's eyes narrowed, like he wanted to say something and chose not to.
Then—
A distant boom rolled through the concrete.
Not a gunshot.
A concussive bloom that made dust shake from the ceiling beams.
The lights flickered.
A scream echoed up the ramp.
Panic moved like a wave.
Officers snapped to radios. Weapons came up. The drone's red light jittered.
Kaelen's head lifted.
The air thickened.
Instinct surged, violent and fast.
Nora caught him hitting the edge.
The world tilted toward fire.
Mercer shouted, "Hold positions!"
The man in the suit yelled, "Get her behind cover!"
Hands reached—
Not for Kaelen.
For Nora.
For the asset.
For the remote.
Nora moved before they could touch her.
She stepped forward into the chaos and lifted her hand.
Not two fingers.
A full palm, flat.
A stop sign carved out of bone.
"Kaelen," she said.
His gaze snapped to her.
Nora paid for the next word.
Pain stabbed behind her eyes. Her vision flashed white at the edges.
Her mouth filled with metal.
But she kept her voice steady.
"Stay."
The paid word landed like a chain made of air.
Kaelen froze mid-shift, heat roaring under his skin and not breaking through.
For a second, his eyes looked feral.
Then her hand touched his wrist—
one clean point of contact—
and his breathing slowed.
Nora tasted blood.
She didn't wipe it.
Let the cameras see the cost.
Let the world learn control wasn't free.
Mercer stared, radio crackling in his hand.
"What the hell was that?" someone shouted up the ramp.
Another boom—smaller, sharper—answered.
Someone was testing.
Not Kaelen.
Her.
Nora lifted her chin and met Mercer's stare over the chaos.
"You wanted proof," she said, voice rough with copper. "You got it."
Mercer's face went pale around the edges.
It clicked—sharp and ugly.
Not the king.
The woman who could hold him still while the world burned.
Nora's phone buzzed in her pocket—one sharp vibration against her hip.
No caller ID.
Just a blank screen lighting up like an eye opening.
And in the flicker of light, Nora caught the hallway camera's red dot reflected in Mercer's visor.
Watching.
Always watching.
Nora swallowed blood and smiled—small and sharp.
"Whoever did that," she said, loud enough for the mics, "try harder."