Briar’s POV
The comnts begin flooding the bottom of the live stream.
Support.
Shock.
Outrage.
Denial.
Everything tangled together, multiplying faster than any moderator could possibly control.
"I’m not seeking vengeance," she declares, her voice now carrying strength that fills the room and pierces through the screen. "I’m demanding recognition. I’m demanding this ends."
She pulls back from the podium, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the stream cuts suddenly as soone behind the cara lunges for the equipnt.
The quiet in my kitchen feels suffocating.
The tablet buzzes again in my grip, alerts piling up rapidly, both internal and external channels igniting simultaneously like sothing has ruptured and refuses to seal.
"They made it public," Asher states.
"Clearly," I respond, because understatent seems safer than voicing what’s actually running through my mind, which is that this transforms everything.
I’m moving before conscious thought kicks in, snatching my jacket and shoving my feet into boots, my wolf prowling restlessly now, instincts firing in all directions while my brain calculates repercussions and response tifras and the countless ways this could spiral without proper managent.
"Where are you headed," Asher questions.
"Command center," I answer. "Before they attempt to speak on my behalf."
Because they will.
They always do.
The hallways are already electric when I reach headquarters, voices elevated just enough to reveal the tension beneath, clusters of people gathered around monitors and workstations, gazes darting toward before quickly averting like they’re waiting to see which version of erges today.
Ruth intercepts midway down the corridor, her face tight and asured.
"She broadcast recently," she reports. "It’s already being duplicated across platforms."
"Naturally," I reply.
"The board is composing a response," she adds.
My teeth clench.
"Without consulting ," I state.
"Correct."
Asher moves closer behind , his presence solid and reassuring against my back.
"They’re positioning it as unauthorized revelation," Ruth continues. "They’re stressing stability and continued evaluation."
"They’re branding her as irresponsible," I conclude.
"Correct."
I release a controlled exhale, forcing myself to remain centered as fury coils hot and razor-sharp in my chest, because this is precisely what they warned her would happen, and precisely what they intended to do all along.
"Generate the engagent analytics," I command. "I need reach, interaction rates, public sentint."
Ruth nods and moves swiftly.
I enter the command center and fix my attention on the primary display as information begins flowing, observing the trics climb, watching the geographic distribution expand, watching trends erge that validate what I already suspected.
This won’t disappear.
Asher’s voice is quiet beside my ear. "They’ll pressure you to make a statent."
"Absolutely," I confirm.
"And if you comply," he continues, "they’ll claim you encouraged her actions."
"And if I refuse," I counter, "they’ll say I endorsed them."
The tablet vibrates once more.
A private ssage.
From an anonymous account.
I pause montarily, then access it.
She isn’t alone.
There are others like us.
They’re ordering us to remain silent.
What should we do.
My breathing catches, the full weight crashing down suddenly, because this is the deluge I sensed approaching, and no barrier remains between it and the surface.
I look up at the display, at the expanding web of reactions, at the faces of people understanding in real ti that sothing they accepted as ordinary was never intended to be.
Asher studies intently. "Marcus."
"They instructed her not to speak," I say quietly. "And she spoke anyway."
"Yes."
"And now they believe they can control the damage," I continue, my voice even despite the tempest inside. "They think if they dictate my response, they can dictate what follows."
Asher doesn’t object, because he understands as clearly as I do that this mont will shape everything afterward.
Another alert flashes on the main screen.
Breaking developnt.
The board’s statent has been published.
I scan it once.
Then again.
Language refined and calculated, concern expressed without accepting responsibility, emphasis on maintaining order, emphasis on exercising restraint, emphasis on preserving the establishnt.
No reference to Lana specifically.
No admission of wrongdoing.
Just separation.
I feel sothing crystallize in my chest then, cold and sharp, because the boundary has been violated and there’s no returning to the other side.
"They’ve made their choice," I declare.
Ruth’s gaze snaps to . "So have you."
I lock eyes with her, my wolf calm and unwavering beneath my ribs, instincts harmonizing with determination in a way that eliminates any uncertainty.
"Yes," I confirm.
My tablet pulses one final ti.
A broadcast request.
dia.
Public record.
They want my official statent.
Imdiately.
I close my eyes briefly, drawing a asured breath, because whatever I say next will either split this completely open or attempt to seal it shut, and I already know which side of that divide I’m occupying.
When I open my eyes, Asher is observing , worry and faith intertwined in his expression.
I raise my gaze to the screen.
And I accept the connection.
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