(Lyn's POV)
The lobby gleamed like someone had polished it with the tears of interns. White marble floors reflected the crystal chandeliers overhead, and rows of glass doors led into a cavernous chamber filled with important people who looked like they'd been born in suits.
Lyn's stomach flipped. She clutched Michael's arm tighter than she meant to, earning a brief glance from him. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. His steady presence was enough to keep her knees from giving up.
Okay, Lyn, she told herself. You survived the tea party. You survived Rosa's passive-aggressive smile. You even survived Michael cooking breakfast. This is just another room. With too many rich people. And no forks to battle them with.
The Council chamber opened before them like a stage. Rows of seats lined the semicircle, filled with elder statesmen, tycoons, and power-hungry nobles. Their eyes landed on her instantly, sharp and heavy.
Michael guided her forward, his hand steady on hers. The silence that followed their entrance was suffocating. Whispers rose, rippling like snakes in the dark.
"That's her?"
"She looks nothing like before."
"She's… alive, then?"
"Different."
Lyn kept her head up, even as her cheeks burned. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
They took their seats at the long table in the front row. Michael sat beside her, Ethan behind them like a shadow, and Rosa further down with a tablet balanced on her knee. Kai and Daren positioned themselves near the back, Kai deadpan and Daren pretending not to play with a small drone hidden in his jacket pocket.
The Council Chairman, a silver-haired man with a voice like gravel, cleared his throat. "Mr. Lawrence. Miss Amster. We welcome you to today's session."
Welcome? Lyn thought. More like "step into the lion's mouth, dear."
She plastered on her best polite smile.
The meeting began with boring reports about numbers and shipping routes. Lyn zoned out halfway through, her eyes drifting toward the ornate ceiling.
Michael nudged her hand under the table. She jumped.
"Focus," he murmured.
"I'm trying," she whispered back. "But it's like watching paint dry."
"Paint won't bankrupt you."
"Depends on the paint."
A faint twitch curved his lips. Lyn counted that as a victory.
Then it was their turn.
"Miss Amster," one of the Councilmen said, leaning forward, his tone oily. "You've been… absent from public view for quite some time. Yet here you are, looking remarkably… healthy."
A murmur of agreement rolled through the chamber.
Lyn's stomach twisted. She opened her mouth, but Michael spoke first, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.
"She is here because she belongs here. That is all you need to know."
The Councilman smirked. "With respect, Mr. Lawrence, the Council is not in the habit of accepting mysteries." His gaze flicked back to Lyn. "Tell us, Miss Amster. What do you remember of your time away?"
Lyn's palms went slick. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
"I remember," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor inside, "that people talked too much about things they didn't understand."
A ripple of muffled laughter came from the back—Daren, choking on his own attempt to stifle it. Kai elbowed him sharply.
The Councilman frowned. "So you refuse to answer?"
Michael leaned forward, eyes dark. "She is not obligated to answer questions designed to insult her."
Another voice chimed in—a woman with hawk-like features. "Rumors abound that the young Miss Amster is… not herself. That she is changed. Perhaps replaced. How do you explain this transformation?"
Oh great. We've reached the conspiracy theory segment.
"I ate my vegetables," Lyn said solemnly.
The room went still.
Even Michael blinked. Ethan's pen paused mid-scribble. Rosa's head whipped toward her in horror.
Lyn doubled down. "Kale, especially. It works wonders."
A startled laugh escaped from someone in the gallery. The Councilwoman's face tightened, but the tension broke—just a little.
Michael covered his mouth with his hand, hiding a smirk.
Score one for the kale defense, Lyn thought.
Then Victor Hale rose from his seat. His smile was polished, his suit gleaming. He was the kind of man who probably practiced expressions in the mirror until they came out just right.
"Miss Amster," Hale said smoothly, "we're all very pleased you've recovered. Truly. But forgive me if I say—it is difficult to believe one can change so completely without… assistance."
His eyes lingered, gleaming with insinuation.
Lyn stiffened. He's trying to corner me.
Before she could respond, Michael spoke, voice low and dangerous. "Careful."
Hale chuckled. "Merely an observation. No malice intended."
"Intent is irrelevant when the result is insult."
The air in the chamber grew colder. Lyn could feel it radiating from Michael, a storm coiled tight.
She slipped her hand under the table, brushing his knuckles. His eyes snapped to her, storm pausing, just for her.
"I can answer," she whispered.
His jaw clenched, but he nodded once.
Lyn straightened. "You're right, Mr. Hale. I did change. I had to. Life… wasn't kind. People weren't kind. But I survived. And now I'm here." She met his eyes, steady. "I don't need assistance to exist."
The room murmured. Hale's smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Michael's hand tightened over hers under the table, warm and steady.
The questioning dragged on. Some Council members poked at her, others watched silently, calculating. Through it all, Michael remained coiled steel—speaking only when he had to, cutting down insinuations with a single word or a glance that silenced men who had toppled nations.
Lyn found herself oddly calm. Maybe it was his presence. Maybe it was the absurdity of it all—rich men in suits acting like she was a puzzle to solve instead of a person trying not to fall off her chair.
At one point, she dropped her pen. It clattered loudly on the marble floor. She bent to pick it up—and hit her head on the underside of the table.
"Ow."
The room chuckled softly. Her cheeks burned. She shot upright, holding the pen like a weapon.
Michael leaned close, his voice low enough only she could hear. "Graceful."
"Shut up," she hissed, but her lips twitched.
Finally, the Chairman raised a hand. "That is enough for today."
Relief washed over her. She hadn't fainted, hadn't tripped into a Councilman's lap, hadn't blurted out something truly incriminating. Success!
As they stood to leave, Lyn caught sight of a figure in the far gallery. Hood pulled low. Too still. Too familiar.
Her breath caught.
The hooded figure.
She blinked, and he was gone—vanished into the sea of suits.
Michael noticed her pale face instantly. "What is it?"
She swallowed. "Nothing."
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. Not here. Not in front of them.
He simply laid his hand at her back, guiding her toward the doors, his presence a wall against the world.
But inside, Lyn's thoughts spun.
The hooded figure wasn't just sending messages. He was here.
Watching.
Waiting.
And maybe… remembering something she couldn't.