"I'm saying you're not the one with objectives to meet, Violet. You want a weapon? Fine. You want a tool? You can have it — so long as you're willing to pay the right price."
Her throat tightened despite herself. "Which is?"
"The same one you wished to impose on me," he said. "Unconditional. No questions. No hesitation. When I call, you come. What I ask, you do." He held her gaze. "As I would for you."
Violet went completely still.
"That's a very dangerous agreement." Uncertainty laced every syllable. "You're a schemer, Chion. By nature and by preference. And your methods are not what anyone would call gentle." She leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So what stops you from dragging me to hell? From overexploiting what I offer? From wringing every last use from this arrangement" — her voice dropped — "and burning me the moment I no longer fit your frame?"
The question settled between them like smoke after a flame goes out.
"Nothing," Chion said. "Nothing at all."
___
The words were not a threat. They were worse — they were honest. The particular honesty of someone who had never needed to dress cruelty in kindness, because the cruelty itself was the courtesy.
"But isn't that precisely why we're still negotiating?" His head tilted slightly. "The door remains open. Additional clauses. Conditions. Whatever would make this feel less like standing at the edge of something without a rope. I'm not asking you to trust me." His silver eyes held hers. "I'm asking you to make it worth the effort you've expended."
Violet was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, the last of her heat was gone. What remained was cooler. Deliberate.
"Then I have one condition."
He waited.
"My interests. Every last one of them — objectives, alliances, the people attached to my name. None of it gets damaged. None of it gets misused. None of it becomes collateral in whatever you decide to build or burn." She let the words settle. "That is non-negotiable."
"Fair."
He extended his hand. No preamble. No qualification. No last word. Violet looked at it — just one moment — then took it. The grip was brief. Firm. Final.
Two weapons reaching an understanding in a cold room, over a ruined table and a shattered bottle. Neither of them smiled.
"To a prosperous union, Number Four."
"To a prosperous union, Number Eighteen."
___
Her other hand slipped into her cloak and produced the folded parchment. "Your gift," she said, handing it over.
He accepted it, eyes moving carefully down each line she had highlighted. His smile vanished for a fraction of a second, then returned — colder than before.
"They really want me dead, don't they."
"That's the closest word. Though I'm not entirely certain — that's my deduction." Her gaze flicked to him. "My best advice would be to lay low for the next three days. If—"
"No." Smooth. Immediate.
"Pardon?"
"That would be a waste."
She stared at him. "Is that your way of saying you have a countermeasure? Or are you simply indulging in pointless rhetoric?"
He said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. "So your counter is—?"
"Why would I ruin a carefully prepared scheme by dodging it?" he asked. "That would diminish the effort you took to bring it to me."
"Are you actually insane?" Her voice rose slightly.
He regarded her in silence.
"What purpose does our agreement serve if you're going to waste your life?" She leaned forward, tone sharpening. "You're cashing debts you can't cover. Your position is barely above that of a hollow-blood. You can't afford a confrontation. Half the Vale is looking for a pretense to have your head. The other half is waiting eagerly for the blood to spill. Even if you somehow manage to walk away" — her voice darkened — "there will be a price. There is always a price."
Chion studied her. "Yes," he said quietly. "But you're not the one paying it, are you, Violet? Your concern was not part of our agreement. And I don't walk away from an open door."
The anger in her eyes recalibrated into curiosity.
"Would you care to clarify — or does that fall outside the scope of our agreement as well?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "It does, actually." Disgust flickered across her face. "But we're close enough. I'll share."
"What my Senior and the Council are doing right now — without realizing it — is handing us a stage. A perfect stage to demonstrate what reckless ambition costs." He smiled faintly. "Let's say I intend to buy time using the only two weapons the clan respects: spectacle and heresy."
Violet exhaled. She didn't understand, and quite frankly didn't want to. Whatever he plotted, whatever it cost, it would cost his enemies more. That was enough.
She read his silence as dismissal and shifted her weight toward the door.
"Wait."
The word halted her mid-step. Her hand hovered near her cloak as she turned back, blue eyes narrowing.
"Tomorrow," Chion said. "I will stand before the Council's judgment. In its entirety."
Her eyes tightened — not fear, but something colder. Heavier. Crimes judged beneath the Council's full authority were costly, and that was the gentlest word one could use.
"The Council?" she echoed carefully. No clarity came.
"Do me a favor," he continued. "Wait for me here." Her brow creased. "With your… friends."
Suspicion spiked. What does he know?
"Friends?" she asked evenly, her expression offering nothing.
"Hector," he said. Her pulse jumped. "Agatha. Runan." Each name landed with surgical precision. "And if the heavens have favored your efforts — Leah as well."
"You've been spying on me?" The words came out like venom.
"Observation. Shelterless birds flock together for warmth. Or am I mistaken for merely stating the obvious?"
Her pride surged. Rage burned sharp — but she swallowed both. Saying nothing cost her less.
He let the tension die. "Please see it done." He produced a ring of keys and tossed them toward her. They flashed once in the dim light before she caught them with a clean clink.
Her fingers turned the keys slowly. "Am I to take this as your first order?"
"If it gets the task done faster, then perhaps." Her eyes narrowed. "If not — a promise. The first fruits of this arrangement will come from my end, once it's done."
"I'll see what I can do," she muttered, already turning away.
"That will suffice."
"Oh. And Violet."
She paused at the threshold, glancing back.
"I understand the desire for common ground," he said. "But if you intend to walk a long path as a shepherd, I suggest you make your flock more diverse. Less predictable. And preferably with some distance between them — distance that only you can bridge." His gaze remained calm. "Otherwise, you'll be the first to fall when the wolves come."
Her jaw tightened. "Noted."
The door swung open. Then closed.
The chamber returned to silence.