Marisol and Noa exchanged a gnce. Then Marisol stood, lifting her cup again.

  “We’ll give you two the room.”

  Noa didn’t argue. But as she passed Savina, she murmured just loud enough:

  “Don’t waste the question.”

  The door clicked shut behind them.

  Silence filled the chamber. Not tense.

  Expectant.

  He remained at the board, one hand resting on a pushpin, eyes moving across the threads as though her presence hadn’t disturbed the design at all.

  Savina walked slowly toward the table, dragging a finger across its polished surface.

  “This is impressive,” she said. “But it doesn’t tell me why.”

  He didn’t look up.

  “Why what?”

  She turned toward him.

  “Why build this at all? Why seduce, bckmail, manipute, train people like chess pieces… just to own what already wanted to fall apart?”

  Only then did he turn. Not sharply—simply enough to meet her eyes.

  “Because power isn’t something you chase,” he said.

  He stepped closer.

  “It’s something you curate. Protect. Shape.”

  She closed the distance by a step of her own.

  “At what cost? Do they ever say no to you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “And when they do?”

  “They don’t stay.”

  Her chin lifted, defiance returning to steady her voice.

  “I don’t serve kings.”

  His reply was immediate.

  “Then don’t.”

  He began to circle her slowly. Not predatory. Not intimate. Clinical.

  “Don’t serve. Don’t kneel. Don’t obey.”

  He stopped just behind her.

  “Just understand.”

  She turned to face him again. For once there was no bite in her voice—only uncertainty she couldn’t quite hide.

  “…And if I do?”

  He studied her for a long moment—not judging, not testing.

  Measuring.

  Then he stepped closer, his voice low, but not soft.

  “Then you stop living outside the walls…”

  A small pause.

  “…and start writing on them.”