Page 19

“She’s not wrong,” Drogor observes with a smirk.

Za’tan snarls but reins it in. I lean back, folding my hands in my lap.

“You waste resources bickering while the ground quakes beneath our feet. The Paluga stirs, and still you argue, pecking like predators over scraps,” I say.

The Al’fa’s gaze sharpens. There. Interest, maybe respect. It coils beneath his wariness. Rosalind speaks next, voice low and measured.

“It should be possible to return to the surface soon,” she says. “If this Paluga is the monster you claim, we can return there, escaping its awakening. We must preserve all who we can.”

I meet her eyes and nod slightly. There’s honesty there, but also self-interest. Her focus remains on survival, above all else.

“The Urr’ki Queen would see all of us extinct,” Za’tan counters. “You forget who you are speaking to.”

“Do I?” I ask, tilting my head. “I speak as someone who understands survival. And I see division here. Division will be not only your undoing, it will be all of ours.”

The Al’fa leans over the table, looming above the scale model, but I remain still.

“We do not take lessons from prisoners,” he rumbles.

“Then take it from someone who has lived beneath your feet longer than your own ancestors,” I reply calmly.

A ripple of unease. Even Drogor frowns. Inside, my heart races, but I mask it well. This is a dangerous game, but if I don’t play it, all is lost.

“What would you suggest?” Za’tan asks, quieter.

I allow myself a small smile.

“Let me help you survive.”

A pause. Everyone stares at the model, not looking up or exchanging any looks. I watch, patient. This is good. I need them to stop, to think, and most of all to listen. Rosalind leans forward.

“You propose an alliance, but what assurances can you give us?” she asks.

“I propose pragmatism,” I say. “I propose understanding your enemy better than they understand themselves. Let me be your strategist. You need someone who knows how the Urr’ki move, how they think.”

The Al’fa’s gaze locks on mine. For a beat, the council fades. It’s just him and me. His breath slows, but his fists remain clenched. There’s heat there. Not just anger. I feel it in the way his gaze lingers on my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.

“You expect us to trust you,” he says.

“No,” I answer. “I expect you to recognize the truth when it’s laid bare.”

The tension tightens, thick as the air before a storm. I realize, in this moment, how similar we are. Two leaders caught between duty and instinct.

He steps around the table, moving towards me. Khiara tenses and moves to block him but I stop Khiara with a hand on his arm. The Al’fa closes the distance. He towers over me. I should feel fear, but instead a thrill curls low in my stomach.

Za’tan shifts uncomfortably. Drogor watches with an amused smile on his face. Rosalind narrows her eyes, sensing it too.

“You are dangerous,” the Al’fa says quietly.

“So are you,” I murmur back.

A beat. Then, he turns sharply and returns to his original position on the opposite side of the table. He pauses a moment then addresses the room.

“Enough. We’ll reconvene when tempers have cooled.”

Without waiting for dismissal, Za’tan and Drogor exit. Rosalind trails behind them, shooting me a curious glance over her shoulder. The Al’fa lingers and I rise slowly. He stands with his back to me but I sense something, an opportunity perhaps. Or maybe I’m only hoping.

Khiara is at my side, shifting his weight uncomfortably, wanting to get me out of here. I look at my brave warrior and motion for him to wait outside. His jaw tenses, his eyes widen and he shakes his head. I smile, touch his arm again. Reluctantly his resistance melts. He frowns deeply but then silently complies with my order.