"And I realized I had become… an instrument."
"Whose instrument?" Corvin pressed, leaning forward slightly.
"Fear's," Ethan answered without hesitation.
"People fear what they don't understand."
Elizabeth's lips curved in a faint smile, though her eyes remained watchful, studying.
"Such maturity."
"Or excellent preparation," Michael added, narrowing his eyes.
Laurent still hadn't taken his eyes off him. He stood a little apart, hands clasped behind his back, but now he slowly stepped closer. The movement was almost imperceptible, yet Ethan felt the space around him contract.
"Are you afraid of us right now?" Laurent asked quietly, almost a whisper.
Ethan turned his head toward him slowly, showing no alarm.
"No."
"Not at all?"
"If I were afraid, I wouldn't have come."
Laurent began to circle him slowly, step by step, as though appraising merchandise at a market.
The motion was subtle, but Ethan felt the air around him grow heavier.
"People usually tremble," Laurent said.
"Their heart races, pupils dilate.
Pulse jumps. Yet yours is perfectly steady."
He stopped directly in front of Ethan—too close.
Ethan held his gaze.
"I made a decision," he replied.
"When you make a decision, fear disappears instantly."
Roy gave the faintest nod.
Gérard watched the entire exchange with mild interest; his fingers tapped lightly against the back of the chair.
"That's good," he said at last.
"We need people who can accept something and weigh it properly."
He made a small, almost invisible gesture toward a waiter.
Bruno,impeccable in his waiter's uniform, eyes downcast,approached with a tray. Their gazes met for the briefest fraction of a second,a flash of recognition,but not a single muscle betrayed it.
"Wine?" Bruno offered softly.
Corvin took a glass, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Ethan.
Elizabeth did the same; her fingers brushed the stem almost tenderly.
Roy reached for the tray but paused, fingers hovering in mid-air.
"Ethan?" he asked quietly.
A second passed.
"With pleasure," Ethan replied.
He took the glass.
"To reconciliation," Gérard said, raising his own glass.
"To stability," Richard added, his voice firm.
"To the reform," Michael said quietly.
Their glasses met in a soft, clear chime of crystal that rippled outward.
Ethan brought the glass to his lips and took the smallest sip. The wine was heavy, tasting of oak and something faintly metallic.
Laurent watched without drinking; he simply held the glass, eyes never leaving Ethan.
"You know," he said suddenly, "that almost every key figure from the East Coast is in this room tonight?"
"I suspected as much," Ethan replied calmly.
"Police, medicine, finance…" Elizabeth added, her voice softening slightly.
"Even a few senators."
"So it's an important evening," Ethan said.
Corvin leaned in close,almost intimately.
"This is the evening when the future's control is decided."
Gérard turned toward the stage, where technicians were finishing microphone checks,soft clicks, sound tests.
"And who will become its public face," he added quietly.
He looked at Ethan; the gaze was piercing, yet without overt threat.
"You do understand that today you will become a symbol?"
The word hung in the air.
Roy placed a hand on Ethan's back.
"History loves these kinds of turns," he said.
Ethan allowed himself a small, modest, almost apologetic smile.
"Then let's make it happen."
In the distance, a signal sounded; the organizers were indicating that the broadcast would begin in a few minutes.
Gérard took a step toward the stage.
"Stay close," Roy murmured to Ethan. "When I nod, it's your cue."
Laurent moved another half-step closer; his breath brushed Ethan's ear.
"And try not to remember anything extra," he whispered.
Ethan looked at him calmly, straight in the eyes.
"I'm here only for the future."
The lights in the hall brightened slightly; spotlights slowly came on, focusing on the stage.
The music faded.
The murmur of voices gradually shrank to whispers.
Somewhere backstage, a small red on-air indicator had already lit up,a tiny but ominous glow.
Ethan stood among them, surrounded by predators who believed he had been tamed.
People began final preparations for the live broadcast.
Cameras glided smoothly, like metallic insects on slender joints, their lenses capturing every person in the room.
Richard Hale stood at the edge of the stage, arms crossed over his chest, watching the operators with poorly concealed irritation; his jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles stood out.
"Too much press," he muttered through his teeth, voice low but sharp enough that the nearest guards snapped to attention as though given an order.
"Who approved access for the federal networks?"
Corvin, standing beside him, answered calmly,almost lazily:
"It strengthens legitimacy."
Richard turned his head sharply, like a soldier executing a pivot.
"It multiplies risks."
He touched his earpiece.
"Reinforce the perimeter,inner and outer.
Re-check all service exits.
No exceptions."
There was no panic in his voice.
Elizabeth stood a little apart, watching the camera lenses; her eyes slid across the red recording lights like a predator sighting targets.
"Extra eyes are always a problem," she whispered to Corvin, barely moving her lips. "Some of those networks are not in our sphere of influence."