CHAPTER 124: CHAPTER 124: YOUR STAGE (2)

The doors opened, spilling the hush of expectation into the corridor. Twelve pairs of eyes lifted at once as Victor entered, Samael at his side, Ashwin two steps behind.

For a breath, the board forgot to rise. They had seen Victor before, of course, in his wheelchair, remote and untouchable, a figure whose presence was more rumor than flesh. But now the man walked. Not stiffly, not with the hesitation of someone barely recovered, but with the steady ease of someone for whom the world parted naturally.

Chairs scraped belatedly as the twelve came to their feet. None of them spoke the question clinging to their throats, but the air thickened with it: How?

They all knew the whispers, the half-mocked rumors that Victor was more than a man. Stories of gods devoured, of power stitched into bone. They had dismissed them as myth, convenient propaganda to inflate the Numen name. Yet the sight of him, young, tall, shoulders squared without the weight of wheels, gnawed at their certainty.

Victor ignored their unease with the same calm he might ignore insects at a window. He crossed the room unhurriedly, crimson eyes sweeping over them once, and lowered himself into his chair at the head of the table with the relaxed grace of a man who had never known restraint.

Samael slipped into the seat at his right, his voice polished. "The agenda is as you were informed: sector three discrepancies, projected losses on the Rhine contracts, and external chatter amplified by dissident channels. We’ll begin with the audit."

Files shifted across the table. The board reached for them with hands just shy of too quick, eager to anchor themselves in paper and ink, anything that explained this day as ordinary.

Victor leaned back slightly, one arm resting against the polished glass table, the black silk tie Elias had chosen gleaming under the lights. He didn’t need to speak. His very presence, standing minutes ago where he should not have stood, did the work for him.

The twelve sat straighter, voices subdued. And as Samael began to speak, they listened as though the silence beside him might break them if they didn’t.

One of the older members, grey at the temples and usually quick to fill silences, cleared his throat. "The amounts siphoned in sector three are... minor. Barely a ripple against quarterly revenue. Perhaps not worth..."

Samael didn’t raise his voice, but it hit the same. "Patterns are worth more than numbers," he cut in smoothly, his dark eyes glancing briefly toward the far end of the table, where three members shifted in their seats. "Rats nibbling at margins today will eat through foundations tomorrow. Pretend not to notice, and you’ll have nothing left to sit on."

The man’s mouth closed. Papers rustled, too quick, too defensive.

Another voice tried next, careful, threading caution through every word. "If we escalate audits, we risk drawing attention from shareholders. They may see instability."

Victor moved at last, leaning forward just enough for the black silk tie at his throat to catch the light. He didn’t speak. Crimson eyes cut toward the speaker, steady and unblinking, and the words dried in the man’s throat like ash.

Samael let the silence draw tight before smoothing it. "Instability isn’t exposing rot. Instability is leaving it to fester. Please, explain how our shareholders would be affected by eliminating those nibbling at their profits." His smile was polished, but the faint weight beneath it left no doubt whom he meant.

The man fumbled with his folder, flipping pages he didn’t need. "I only meant that sudden action could unsettle the market..."

Ashwin placed a slim folder onto the table, his tone flat and precise. "Markets react to weakness. Weakness is pretending leaks don’t exist. If scraps are going to Theobald, shareholders will notice faster than you think."

A shuffle went through the room, three members in particular shifting uncomfortably in their seats. They kept their eyes down, but their hands were tight on pens and paper, too purposeful in their movements.

Victor leaned back in his chair, relaxed, but when his gaze moved across the table, it stopped just long enough on those three to make the air heavier.

Samael smoothed the moment with an easy smile, his voice steady. "Stability isn’t about hiding problems. It’s about correcting them. If anyone here disagrees, now is the time to put it on record." His eyes swept the table, pausing in the same place Victor’s had. "Otherwise, we move forward."

Silence. No one spoke. Even the usual rustle of paper had gone still.

Victor finally moved his hand from the armrest to the table, his tone even. "Continue."

The next item shifted to projected losses on the Rhine contracts. Samael outlined the figures, precise and efficient, but his tone left little room for debate. "Adjustments can be absorbed if restructuring is approved. Delay, and the margin will compound."

A younger member, usually quick to posture with questions, glanced toward the three at the far end of the table before lowering his eyes to the numbers. His voice never rose. "Restructuring makes sense. Better to absorb now than bleed later."

Samael inclined his head once. "Good. Then we have consensus." He looked down the table, a faint curve in his mouth. "Unanimous, I trust?"

Every hand shifted toward the folder. A few muttered agreements followed. The three guilty stayed still a fraction too long, then added their nods with the same fake calm they’d worn for years. It wasn’t enough to hide the tension in their shoulders.

Victor didn’t move, didn’t speak. His silence remained the anchor of the room, and it pressed hardest on the ones who had the most to lose.

Ashwin turned a page, his voice quiet, stripped of inflection. "External chatter amplified by dissident channels. Several routes confirmed. The source remains consistent."

The word ’dissident’ carried further than his monotone should have allowed. Every glance that wasn’t aimed at the papers flicked, briefly, to the same three faces.

Victor’s hand rested flat against the glass table. His crimson eyes didn’t leave the page in front of him when he spoke. "Noted."