Briar’s POV
Disagreent they could handle.
Resistance they could work around.
This kind of refusal rattled them.
"You’re being unreasonable," one of the n said, his voice tight.
"I’m being honest," I shot back.
"I won’t do it," I stated clearly. "Not under these terms."
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable for .
It was calculated.
They sat there waiting, hoping I’d cave. Hoping I’d backtrack and give them what they wanted.
The lead negotiator leaned forward then, his hands clasped like he was about to deliver a sermon.
"The alliance talks are happening regardless," he said slowly. "With or without proper oversight."
His threat hung in the air between us, quiet but unmistakable.
"If you refuse to participate," he continued, "soone else will take your place. Soone who won’t care about protecting the smaller packs."
I stared at him. "Is that supposed to convince ?"
"It’s supposed to be the truth," he replied.
I let his words sink in, taking longer than they expected to respond.
This was their trap.
Step forward and get used.
Step back and watch everything fall apart.
I’d been choosing distance lately, thinking that staying away would limit the damage. Thinking that refusing to participate in broken systems would sohow fix them.
But distance only mattered when everyone played fair.
Right now, they weren’t.
"So you’d rather handle this without any checks and balances," I said, "than deal with soone who might slow you down."
"We’d rather avoid getting stuck in endless debates," the woman across from answered.
"Stuck for who?" I pressed. "For you? Or for the packs who have to live with whatever you decide?"
She didn’t have an answer for that.
I breathed out slowly, keeping my expression neutral.
Walking away now wouldn’t be staying neutral.
It would be abandoning everyone who needed protection.
And people would suffer while they pretended those consequences were unavoidable.
"Fine," I said at last. "I’ll do it."
Relief swept across their faces too fast for them to hide it.
One of them actually sighed. Another nodded like we’d just shaken hands on a done deal.
"But there are conditions," I added.
They went still.
"I’m not taking charge," I continued. "I won’t sign anything. I won’t make final decisions. And I won’t be your public face."
"That’s not really how we envisioned—" soone started.
"That’s exactly how it’s going to work," I cut him off. "Or it doesn’t work at all."
Their relief twisted into irritation.
"I’ll diate only," I said firmly. "No real authority. No executive decisions. I watch. I take notes. I step in when soone crosses a line."
"That’s going to slow everything down," one of them complained.
"Good," I replied.
The woman studied more carefully now, like she was seeing clearly for the first ti. "You’re going to make this difficult."
"I’m going to make sure you can’t undo it later," I said.
Another silence fell.
This one lasted longer.
They hadn’t planned for this version of agreent.
They’d wanted my reputation, not my actual involvent.
Finally, reluctantly, she nodded. "diator role only."
The others followed her lead, so looking more annoyed than others.
"We’ll need to make an announcent about your participation," the lead man said, already moving to the next phase.
"I didn’t agree to let you use my na publicly," I told him.
He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "People are already expecting it."
Sothing cold settled in my stomach.
That familiar feeling of being trapped. The one that ca when choices disappeared and you realized the decision had never really been yours to begin with.
I left that eting feeling like I’d stepped onto a moving train. Not because I’d chosen to climb aboard, but because the platform had shifted under my feet and carried along anyway.
The change started imdiately.
My phone buzzed with ssages before I even made it back to my office.
"So glad you’re involved in this."
"This will make everyone feel better."
"We’re all relieved you’re watching over things."
Watching over things.
I stopped in the hallway and stared at nothing for several seconds.
I hadn’t chosen to be visible again.
They’d forced my hand.
That evening, I sat alone in my office with only the desk lamp and my laptop screen for light. The building felt quiet around , but it was a thin kind of quiet, like the walls weren’t quite thick enough anymore.
A notification popped up on my screen.
Press release published.
I clicked on it.
Alliance Negotiations to Continue Under Supervision of Briar Winter
My na was right there in bold letters, already doing the work they’d wanted it to do. Making people feel safe. Giving them soone to bla if things went wrong. Acting as cover I’d never agreed to provide.
I stared at the screen longer than I should have.
"This isn’t supervision," I said to the empty room.
This was exposure.
And sowhere, soone had wanted back in the spotlight all along.
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