Marcus’s POV
Sleep doesn’t co easy the night before the eting.
It’s not fear exactly. Fear would be simpler. Fear has sharp edges you can grab onto, sothing solid to push back against. This feels different. Like standing at a crossroads too long, knowing that whatever path I pick will lock the others away forever. Knowing that even hesitation is a choice that changes everything.
I stay at the kitchen table until sunrise breaks through the cabin windows, the only sound the quiet settling of cooling timber. I go through the docunt one more ti. Not to edit anything. Not to make the language softer or harder. Just to sit with what I’ve written. To make sure every single condition still feels right when the house is empty and my guard is down, when nobody’s watching and there’s nothing to prove.
No permanent control.
Joint oversight with outside review.
Imdiate termination if corruption returns.
Clear ways out.
Public transparency.
No handpicked successors.
I read each line slowly, letting the weight of it sink into my bones. Every condition is really a refusal dressed up as organization. Every protection is an acknowledgnt of what authority becos when it thinks nobody’s checking. This isn’t a compromise. It’s a fence built carefully enough to almost look like a welco mat.
Asher stands by the coffee maker, his mug untouched in his grip. He hasn’t offered any. He knows better than to break into this mont.
"You set for this," he finally asks.
"No," I answer straight. "But I’m done preparing."
He gives a single nod. That’s all it takes with Asher. It always has been.
The council chamber has a different energy today.
Thicker. Less polite. Word has already gotten out that I didn’t just roll over and accept their offer. Councils love to talk about keeping secrets, but they’re terrible at actually doing it.
They know I’m bringing sothing with teeth into their eting, even if they can’t tell exactly who it’s going to bite.
Every chair at the long table is filled today. Twelve people sitting there.
Faces arranged into fake calm that cracks in small places. Pressed lips. Eyes too bright.
Hands folded too perfectly on the wood surface. Elena sits two seats away from Councilor Erson, spine straight, expression giving nothing away.
She doesn’t et my eyes when I walk in. I can’t tell if she’s being careful or showing support.
They don’t get up when I enter.
That’s fine. I don’t slow down either.
"Let’s get started," Erson says, voice tight, already annoyed by the lack of ceremony.
I don’t waste ti with pleasantries. I don’t thank them for their valuable ti. I don’t pretend we’re all equals having a friendly chat.
"Here are my conditions," I say, pushing the docunt across the polished surface. The paper whispers against the wood. "If you want this position to exist, it exists inside these boundaries. If you can’t accept these limits, then maybe the position shouldn’t exist at all."
Dead silence follows. Not the good kind where people are actually listening. The insulted kind. The kind that hates being forced to look in a mirror.
Kovak flips through the pages too fast, scanning instead of really reading. Others take their ti, foreheads creasing as they start to understand what I’m actually offering. I can see the exact mont it clicks for each of them, when they realize how little of this serves their personal interests.
"No permanent authority," Councilor Rowena says finally, like she can’t believe what she’s reading. "Then what exactly are we putting you in charge of."
"A job," I answer. "Not a throne."
"That’s just playing with words," Erson snaps, his composure finally cracking.
"No," I say, keeping my voice level. "That’s the difference between helping and ruling."
"You’re destroying the whole concept," another councilor says, voice sharp with anger.
"I’m defining it," I reply. "You want stability, not a dictator. Those aren’t the sa thing."
Kovak looks up fast. "You seriously expect us to agree to automatic termination."
"Yes," I say. "If corruption shows up again, the position disappears. No vote. No waiting period. No protecting the system over the people it’s supposed to serve."
"That would leave us vulnerable," Erson says.
"It would make you responsible," I answer. "Which is exactly the point."
Whispers start moving around the table. So angry.
So thoughtful. I can feel the room starting to split even before anyone says it out loud. This isn’t everyone united against . This is a room divided by the reflection I just forced them to see.
The tension stretches like a wire about to snap. Elena’s fingers tap once against the table, the only movent she’s made since I started talking. Erson’s jaw works like he’s chewing on words he wants to spit out but knows he shouldn’t.
"This is not what we discussed," another councilor says.
"No," I agree. "It’s what you’re getting."
The silence that follows feels like the mont before lightning strikes. The air felt charged, and I had no idea where it would hit first.
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