March – Virelia Summit Hall, Day 5
The Silence That Spoke Volumes
Jay woke early. Earlier than usual.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time, the glow of the city still lingering in his thoughts—and not just because of last night.
Christin's words echoed with a weight he couldn't shake: You've still got a long way to go, Jay.
The space beside him on the couch was empty. He hadn't expected her to stay. But something about the quiet that followed their almost-moment felt… unfamiliar. Like the room wasn't entirely his anymore.
He rubbed his face, dressed, and met Christin in the hallway without needing to knock.
She was already in heels and charcoal gray, coffee in hand. Her face was unreadable again.
"Morning," she said.
Jay nodded. "Did you sleep?"
"A little."
That was all either of them said.
And somehow, it was enough.
The First Blow
The summit resumed with a sharper edge.
Christin's proposal had stirred waters, and today, the tide turned.
Lady Arienne began the morning session with a crisp statement:
"It's come to our attention that a data irregularity has been uncovered in House Markov's trade report—specifically regarding fleet traffic in Sector 3-G."
Jay blinked.
Christin narrowed her eyes.
"What kind of irregularity?" she asked.
House Amsel's Voek leaned in like a man who'd been waiting all night for this moment.
"A falsified log," he said. "One that suggests your cargo fleets were rerouted after your proposal was introduced—implying inside knowledge was exploited to gain advantage."
Murmurs swept the room.
Jay stood slowly.
"That's a lie."
Voek shrugged. "Then prove it."
Lady Arienne gestured. "A formal audit has been proposed. Unless House Markov wishes to withdraw the oversight proposal for reconsideration?"
Christin didn't flinch.
"We'll submit to the audit."
Jay turned to her, surprised.
She didn't look at him. She stared down Voek instead.
"And when the audit comes back clean," she said coldly, "I expect a public apology."
Voek smiled. "If it comes back clean."
Jay felt the burn in his chest. This wasn't just a jab. It was a trap. Someone had planted fake data.
And now they had to prove what didn't happen.
III. Behind the Curtain
They left the hall early.
Back at the hotel, Jay paced the lounge.
"This is sabotage," he muttered. "They're trying to bury the entire proposal before it gains momentum."
Christin stood by the table, flipping through data logs. "They were always going to push back. But this is dirtier than expected."
Jay rubbed his temples. "So, what now?"
"We trace the falsified logs. Disprove them. Fast. Before tomorrow's vote."
Jay glanced at her. "You trust me to help with that?"
She paused.
Then looked up. "I trust you more than anyone else in this building."
Jay blinked.
And then sat beside her.
Searching the Static
They spent the next five hours combing data entries, timestamps, routing documents, and third-party tracker logs.
Jay traced inconsistencies others wouldn't have seen. Christin followed the political trail, identifying which party had access to the clearance codes.
Finally—something cracked.
"It's a mirrored log file," Jay muttered. "Copied, re-timestamped. Someone used an outdated fleet schedule and masked it under House Markov's header."
Christin's eyes sharpened. "And only two houses have access to that historical file archive."
She slid the list toward him.
Jay read it.
House Amsel.
House Bellarose.
Jay's lips thinned. "Voek."
"Or someone framing Voek," Christin said. "We can't accuse directly—yet. But this is enough to file a counter-claim."
Jay exhaled. "Will it be enough?"
She looked at him. "If we push it hard enough? Yes."
Jay leaned back. "Then let's push."
A Breath at Midnight
It was nearly midnight when they stopped.
The suite was dim again, the windows glowing faintly from city lights.
Jay stood by the balcony.
Christin came up beside him, arms crossed.
"Today was the first real hit," Jay said.
"It won't be the last," she replied.
He nodded slowly.
Then added, "But it's the first time I knew how to hit back."
Christin looked at him sideways.
"You're changing," she said.
Jay didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
Or if he was already too far into this world to turn around.
The Space Between
Before she turned in for the night, Christin paused near her room door again.
Jay stood a few feet away, the silence stretching between them like a held breath.
She didn't lean in.
Just quietly said, "Whatever happens tomorrow—we stand together."
Jay nodded. "Yeah."
But as she lingered there, he felt the weight of the day settle—not just in his shoulders, but behind his ribs.
"I know I'm not perfect at this," he said. "I don't even know what 'this' is. But I won't let you walk into that room alone."
Christin's gaze softened, just for a moment.
"You already aren't."
She turned the handle slowly, and before slipping inside, she added, "Rest, Jay. You'll need every bit of strength tomorrow."
But just before the door fully shut, Jay called out softly, "Christin."
She paused, hand still on the frame.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Not for your family. Not for mine. For you. What are you gaining from all this?"
There was a long silence.
Then, still not looking at him, she said, "Maybe I just want to matter on my own terms. Maybe I want to see if I can build something that doesn't collapse the moment someone powerful frowns. Maybe I'm tired of being used to make other people look good."
She glanced back, her voice softer. "And maybe... I don't hate the idea of doing that with someone who still asks me questions like this."
Then the door clicked shut.
Jay stood frozen, heart pacing a little faster.
The door shut behind her.
Jay stood there for a while, the faint echo of her voice still in the air.
His reflection in the glass windows caught his eye—sharp suit, tired eyes, a storm brewing inside.
Was he doing this for the mission? For the family name?
Or for her?
He didn't know.
But he knew one thing for sure:
He didn't want to lose either.
And that was terrifying.
Inside Christin's room.
She closed the door softly behind her, exhaled, and leaned against it for a moment.
Then she walked to the bed, sat on the edge—paused—and finally let herself fall forward into the pillows.
Face buried in the soft fabric, she whispered into the silence,
"I'm doing this for you, idiot."