Chapter 244
I do not sleep much the night before.
Not because I am afraid of the council. Fear is too simple for what this is. Fear has edges. It sharpens you, gives you something to push against. This feels different. This feels like standing in a doorway too long, knowing that whatever I choose will close something behind me. Knowing that even if I hesitate, the hinge will still move.
I sit at the table until dawn, the cabin quiet except for the faint creak of cooling wood. I review the document one last time. Not to change it. Not to soften or strengthen a single line. Just to sit with it. To make sure every condition still feels true when the house is quiet and my defenses are down, when there is no one watching and nothing to prove.
No permanent authority.
Shared oversight with external review.
Automatic dissolution if abuse resurfaces.
Clear exit clauses.
Public accountability.
No succession by appointment.
I read them slowly, letting each one settle in my chest. Every condition is a refusal disguised as structure. Every safeguard is an admission of what power does when it thinks it will not be questioned. This is not a compromise. It is a boundary written carefully enough that it almost looks like an invitation.
Ben watches me from the counter, coffee untouched in his hands. He has not asked if I want any. He knows better than to interrupt this part.
“You ready,” he asks eventually.
“No,” I say honestly. “But I am finished.”
He nods once. That is enough. With Ben, it always is.
The council chamber feels different this time.
Heavier. Less careful. Word has already spread that I did not simply accept the role. Councils are good at pretending discretion, bad at practicing it. They know I am bringing something sharp into the room, even if they do not know exactly where it will cut.
The table is full today. Twelve seats occupied. Faces arranged into practiced neutrality that fails in small ways. Tight mouths. Too-bright eyes. Hands folded too neatly on the table. Morgan is there, seated two places down from Councilor Hale, posture straight, expression unreadable. She does not look at me when I enter. I am not sure if that is restraint or support.
They do not stand.
That is fine. Neither do I pause.
“Let us proceed,” Hale says, voice clipped, already irritated by the lack of ceremony.
I do not preface. I do not thank them for their time. I do not pretend this is a discussion between equals.
“These are my terms,” I say, sliding
the document forward. The paper makes a soft sound against the polished surface. “If the role exists, it exists within these limits. If those
limits are unacceptable, then the
rote should not exist at all
Silence follows. Not the listening kind. The offended kind. The kind that resents
being forced to look at itself.
Mirek flips through the pages too
quickly, skimming instead of
reading. Others take their time, brow furrowing as the shape of it becomes clear. I can see the moment understanding lands for each of them, the moment they
realize how little of this benefits
them personally.
“No permanent authority,” Councilor Tamsin says finally, incredulous. “Then what exactly are we appointing you to.”
“A function,” I reply. “Not a position.”
“That is semantics,” Hale snaps, irritation finally breaking through his composure.
“No,” I say calmly. “That is the difference between service and rule.”
“You are gutting the role,” another councilor says, voice sharp with offense.
“I am defining it,” I answer. “You want a stabilizer, not a sovereign. Those are not the same thing.”
Mirek looks up sharply. “You expect us to accept automatic dissolution.”
“Yes,” I say. “If abuse resurfaces, the role dissolves. No vote. No delay. No
protection for the institution over the people it harms.”
“That would leave us exposed,” Hale says.
“It would leave you accountable,” I reply. “Which is the entire point.”
Murmurs ripple around the table. Some angry. Some thoughtful. I can feel the split forming even before. anyone names it. This is not a room, united against me. This is a room divided by the mirror I have just set in front of them.