Anderson arrived first.
The room told him something was wrong before his instincts did.
Not empty. Not quiet. Prepared.
The table stretched the length of the room, long and deliberate, plates already set. Food rested untouched. Wine had been poured and left to breathe. Each place was intentional. Measured. Like a decision already made.
Nine stood at the head of the table, unmoving.
Anderson did not sit immediately. He scanned the corners. The doorways. The reflections in the glass. Only after confirming there were no hidden angles did he pull out a chair.
Nine watched him do it.
Footsteps followed.
Anthony entered like he owned the air. He took in the table, the seating, Anderson already stiff in his chair, Nine standing like a fixture bolted to the floor.
He laughed once, low.
"So this is real," he said. "I thought you were being dramatic."
He sat without being invited. Picked up the nearest glass. Took a sip. Winced.
"Too dry."
Anderson did not look at him.
The door opened again.
Ren entered without hesitation. She did not acknowledge Anderson as she crossed the room. She chose the seat opposite him and sat with controlled precision. Only then did she lift her eyes.
There was no anger in them. Only math.
Anderson's hand drifted toward his jacket.
Then he noticed the fourth plate.
Already occupied.
Samuel sat angled toward Nine, hands folded loosely on the table. Calm. Composed. His presence was quiet, but it pressed against the room like pressure building beneath stone.
"What is this," Samuel asked. His voice was even. "You said we would speak alone."
Anthony leaned forward slightly. His amusement sharpened.
"Is that Samuel," he said.
Anderson stood.
The chair hit the floor behind him as the gun came up.
"You do not get to come back here," Anderson said. His voice was steady. Personal. "You left this city bleeding."
Samuel did not look at him. His eyes stayed on Nine.
Nine finally moved.
"Sit," he said.
Anderson did not.
Nine met his eyes. No threat. No force. Just certainty.
After a long moment Anderson lowered the gun. He did not holster it. His hand trembled once before he stilled it.
Ren exhaled quietly. Not relief. Anticipation.
Nine took his seat.
The food remained untouched.
Bread at the center of the table had gone cold. Meat rested undisturbed. Wine darkened the glass like something left too long in the open.
"You are here because I stopped correcting your mistakes," Nine said.
No one interrupted.
"Molly understood restraint," he continued. "She understood how to keep certain impulses contained. She is gone now."
Samuel's jaw tightened.
Anthony smiled faintly, like he had been waiting to hear it said out loud.
Ren did not react.
Anderson stared at his plate like it had personally betrayed him.
"I do not offer redemption," Nine said. "I do not manage guilt. I do not clean consciences."
His eyes shifted to Samuel.
"And I do not believe you still do either."
Samuel held his gaze. "You let me believe it once."
Nine did not deny it.
Anthony leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So what is this. A confession. A warning. Some kind of ritual."
Nine's mouth curved just enough to suggest amusement.
"Inventory."
Anderson looked up. "Of what."
"Of who wants more," Nine replied.
The room stilled.
"There is one position in this city that matters," Nine said. "Everything else is orbit. You all know this. You all pretend you do not resent it."
Ren's fingers pressed lightly against the edge of the table. She did not break eye contact.
Anthony laughed softly, uneasily.
Anderson's jaw set. "You think this is a game."
"No," Nine said. "I think this is honesty."
He let the silence stretch.
"You can leave," he continued. "Or you can stay and pretend this is about dinner."
His gaze moved around the table, slow and deliberate.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you will act on what you want. Tonight is the last time you are allowed to sit together without consequence."
No one touched the food.
No one drank the wine.
The door closed behind Nine.
The room did not breathe again.
Bread hardened. Wine went untouched.
Four people sat at a table, understanding at different speeds that they had already been invited to a funeral.
None of them believed it would be theirs.