March – Virelia Summit Hall, Day 4
The Calm Before Strategy
Jay didn't sleep much.
He spent most of the night pacing his room, memorizing the key points of Christin's proposal and double-checking the supporting documentation. The words blurred together. Charts, percentages, diplomatic clauses—it all stacked like a fortress of paper and theory.
But when morning came, he was sharp.
Christin met him in the lobby in a graphite blazer and heels that clicked with intent. Her expression gave nothing away—but when she looked at him, her nod said it all:
We go in together.
And they did.
Opening Tension
The summit began at noon.
All factions were present. Arienne Duvall called for updates, and the air was full of guarded optimism. Until Christin rose from her chair and placed two red folders on the central table.
"House Markov," she began, "would like to propose the implementation of a cooperative trade oversight council—one composed of rotating members from each participating house."
Murmurs.
Not applause.
Suspicion.
Jay followed smoothly, standing beside her.
"This model prevents monopolization, promotes transparency, and safeguards the shared lanes from favoritism."
He let the silence stretch.
Then: "We believe this is a solution that benefits all—especially those not large enough to dominate alone."
That hit.
House Freycourt looked intrigued.
House Amsel looked like they'd swallowed something sour.
Voek leaned forward. "How convenient for House Markov to extend such generosity while already having the largest private fleet."
Jay answered without blinking. "Which is exactly why we'd be under the same restrictions. The proposal puts us on equal footing. That's the point."
Lady Arienne Duvall interjected, her voice calm but sharp. "I assume this proposal includes binding clauses?"
Christin nodded. "Yes. Oversight committee members will rotate every fiscal quarter. Majority decisions will require a two-thirds consensus."
The room stirred again.
This wasn't just a proposal.
It was a power shift.
III. First Fractures
Break sessions afterward weren't polite.
Christin and Jay were approached by three different minor houses—quiet voices, hesitant tones.
"If this works," one murmured, "we'd finally have leverage."
Jay kept his replies short. "Then help us prove it works."
But not everyone was as quiet.
Voek cornered them by the tea table.
"You're either incredibly naive," he said, "or dangerously clever."
Jay shrugged. "Probably both."
"You know this puts blood on your family's signature."
Christin replied for him. "Better that than silence."
Voek walked away without another word.
But Jay could feel it now.
They'd drawn a line.
And someone would cross it.
Behind Closed Doors
Back at the hotel, Jay collapsed onto the couch.
Christin took the chair, papers in her lap.
"You were good today," she said.
Jay stared at the ceiling. "I said two sentences."
"Two important ones."
She glanced up. "They're watching you now. You know that, right?"
Jay nodded. "Feels like high school again."
She smiled. "Then use it. You're good at standing out. Just don't forget why you're doing it."
Jay sat up. "Why are we doing it?"
Christin leaned forward. "Because if we don't, they'll decide everything behind closed doors. And people like you—like me—will never be more than pieces they move."
He looked at her for a long time.
Then said, "I'm not planning to be a piece forever."
Her smile deepened. "Good."
And for the first time since they arrived, she relaxed.
She didn't just look at him like a partner.
She looked at him like someone who might actually win this.
The Close Distance
Later that night, the rain tapped gently against the balcony glass.
Jay stood by the window, arms crossed, lost in the blur of city lights. Christin walked in silently, her blazer exchanged for a soft navy sweater, hair down for the first time since they'd arrived.
"You're still awake," she said.
Jay didn't turn. "Can't sleep."
She joined him by the glass, just a step away.
"I thought today would feel like a victory," Jay admitted. "But all I can feel is the next blow coming."
"That's because you care," Christin said softly. "That's what makes you dangerous."
He finally looked at her.
"I was more dangerous when I didn't care."
"Maybe," she murmured. "But now you're real."
There was a silence—a charged one.
Then Christin said, "Sit with me."
They moved to the couch, side by side, not speaking.
Minutes passed like ripples.
Jay glanced at her—just once.
Her head was tilted slightly toward his shoulder, eyes half-closed, peaceful in a way he rarely saw.
"I meant what I said," he whispered.
She opened her eyes slowly. "Which part?"
"I'm not going to be a piece."
Christin reached out and took his hand—deliberate, firm, warm.
"No," she said. "You're already something more."
They stayed like that.
No more words.
Just two hands resting between them.
And the storm outside, still miles away.
The lights were dim now.
Their joined hands rested between them like a secret neither was willing to break first.
Jay shifted just slightly. Christin turned her head to look at him—and neither looked away.
It wasn't like in movies. No swell of music. No sudden confession.
Just two people leaning in by instinct.
Jay's breath caught.
Her face was inches from his.
Then he whispered, "I'm not ready yet."
And gently leaned back.
Christin stood slowly, smoothing the hem of her sweater.
"I should sleep," she said softly.
Jay nodded, dazed. "Yeah."
She moved to the door of her room, pausing with one hand on the frame.
Before disappearing, she looked back and said with a soft smile, "You've still got a long way to go, Jay."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Jay sat still.
His hand tingled.
His mind raced.
And for the first time since he'd left school… he wasn't sure anymore if he was making the right moves, or just being pulled deeper into a world he didn't understand.