Briar’s POV
"You’re insulting this entire council," Rowena snaps, her cheeks flushing crimson.
"I’m trusting it," I fire back. "Trusting it enough to believe it can handle accountability."
A councilor I barely recognize speaks from the far end of the table. Her voice wavers but carries conviction. "These proposed safeguards are quite thorough."
"Thorough isn’t the word I’d use," Erson interjects coldly. "Suffocating is more accurate."
"Necessary," Elena corrects.
The single word slices through the heated atmosphere like a blade. Every person in the room pivots toward her. Even Erson’s perpetual scowl falters.
Elena rises from her chair with deliberate grace. "This is the first proposal I’ve witnessed in thirty years that actually confronts what unchecked authority becos."
Erson’s jaw tightens. "Elena, you’re overstepping..."
"I’m doing exactly what needs to be done," she cuts him off smoothly. "I’ve sat in these chambers watching this council rubber-stamp quick fixes, then feign shock when everything falls apart. Briar isn’t offering you comfort. She’s offering you accountability."
The room erupts into chaos. Voices clash and overlap. Several councilors recoil at the accusation while others shift uncomfortably in their seats, recognizing an unwelco truth.
"You’re asking us to submit to external monitoring," Rowena protests, her tone harsh.
"Absolutely," I respond without hesitation. "Because none of us are above corruption. Not you. Not . Not anyone."
"And who monitors these outside observers?" Erson demands, his voice cutting through the din.
"The sa frawork applies to everyone," I explain. "The entire point is eliminating untouchable positions. Permanently."
The vote arrives with startling speed. Too fast, as if they’re desperate to end this uncomfortable confrontation before it cuts any deeper.
Six votes in support.
Six in opposition.
A dead tie.
The silence that follows feels more oppressive than all the shouting. It settles over us like a suffocating blanket, thick with unspoken resentnt and brewing conspiracies. I scan the faces around the table and clarity hits like ice water.
Even if they eventually approved this position, they’d spend every day undermining it. They’d wait for my first mistake, my first vulnerable mont, then pounce with vindicated satisfaction. They’d never stop trying to reshape this role into sothing more manageable, more conventional.
I push back from the table and stand.
"There’s no need to continue this charade," I announce.
Erson blinks in surprise. "The voting process isn’t finished."
"It is now," I state firmly.
Kovak’s brow furrows. "Briar, protocol dictates that we..."
"I’m withdrawing my na from consideration," I declare. "Completely and permanently."
The reaction is instantaneous.
Shock waves radiate across the room. Chairs scrape against marble floors. Soone mutters a curse under their breath. Half the councilors lean forward as though they can sohow unsay my words. Elena’s eyes flutter closed briefly, and when they reopen, sothing that might be relief flickers in their depths.
"That’s not an option," Rowena sputters, her composure cracking.
"I just made it one," I reply calmly.
"You’re rejecting legitimate governntal authority," Erson accuses, his fury finally breaking free.
"Yes," I agree without apology. "Because I refuse to be dosticated by it."
The word hits the room like a physical blow. Raw and unforgiving and brutally honest. It feels like finally removing a splinter that’s been festering beneath my skin for years.
"You’d abandon everything we’ve worked toward?" Kovak asks, disbelief coloring every syllable.
"I’m not abandoning anything," I correct him. "I’m choosing a different path. I simply don’t know where it leads yet."
I turn and walk toward the exit before anyone can mount an argunt or attempt to negotiate or try reframing this decision as sothing it isn’t.
No security detail materializes to block my way. No voices call out demanding explanations.
The mont I step outside, the air feels transford. Expansive. As if invisible walls I hadn’t noticed were suddenly gone. My ribs feel constricted, but my feet feel weightless.
Asher is stationed near the building’s periter. One glance at my expression tells him everything.
"You turned it down," he observes.
"Yes."
He examines my face carefully. "Any second thoughts?"
I consider the proposed conditions. The split vote. The hungry anticipation I witnessed in that chamber, the way power kept trying to seduce while calling it collaboration.
"None whatsoever," I answer.
We walk away side by side, the council building diminishing behind us. For the first ti in years, I’m not racing toward obligation or fleeing from it.
I’m simply moving forward.
Liberated.
Uncertain.
And finally designing my own boundaries.
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