8. The meeting

Damien’s POV

The knock came at six sharp. Damien stood already dressed, blazer open, shirt collar undone. His eyes flicked toward the door just before it opened.

Anita stepped in without waiting.

“I hope you slept,” she said, offering him a tablet. “Because you’re about to walk into a room full of very delicate egos.”

“Egos I’ll have to flatter or crush?” he asked, taking the device.

“Both,” she replied. “The meeting is mostly about settling terms and conditions for the alliance. No ceremonial signing today. That’ll be scheduled for later once both parties feel secure.”

Damien scrolled through the briefing. “Cyberdefense coordination, trade route control, and security oversight. It’s a landmine of power plays.”

“And Roul likes to win,” Anita added, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “He’ll press, but not push too far. Serina Halden—his chief of staff—is the one to watch. She speaks like she’s playing chess. And she never moves without a reason.”

Damien nodded. “Noted.”

He moved toward the door, but paused when he saw **Killian** standing just outside the suite. Silent, composed, already in uniform. His eyes met Damien’s—and stayed there.

Since their conversation about boundaries, Killian had said almost nothing.

But he hadn’t stopped watching.

Damien wasn’t sure which unsettled him more—the silence or the unwavering attention.

---

The car ride was short and silent.

Damien sat on the right, Anita beside him, and Killian directly opposite—shoulders squared, mouth set in that unreadable line. The sharpness in his jaw hadn’t softened since they boarded the jet.

He hadn’t spoken a word to Damien since they’d landed.

Not one.

But his eyes hadn’t left him either. Not in the suite. Not in the hallway. And certainly not now.

The air in the vehicle felt too still. Damien looked out the window, breaking the gaze. There was nothing to say that wouldn't unearth what they had both tried to bury.

---

They arrived at the Virelian Presidential Office just before seven. Grand, towering, built of ivory stone with silver-gilded eaves and a flag that shimmered under the morning sun.

Inside, they were greeted by Roul’s staff and led to the central negotiation chamber.

President Roul stood waiting near the head of a long glass table. Imposing, charismatic, his salt-and-pepper hair immaculately combed. He wore confidence like it was tailored.

“President Voss,” he greeted, smiling as they shook hands. “Still as composed as the last time we met.”

“I save my nerves for real threats,” Damien replied coolly.

“And here I thought we were friends,” Roul laughed.

Beside him stood **Serina Halden**, a tall, sharp-featured woman in a sleek navy suit. Her eyes were focused and intelligent, her presence commanding.

“President Voss,” she said with a small bow. “A pleasure.”

“Serina Halden,” Anita said beside Damien. “I’ve read your briefings. You’re thorough.”

“And you’re efficient,” Serina replied. “We make a fine match.”

“I believe that’s what today is about,” Anita said, smiling.

They all sat. Killian remained standing behind Damien’s left shoulder, silent, like a storm held in a glass box.

---

The dialogue began smoothly.

Roul opened with charm. “Today’s purpose is simple. Alignment. Once the terms are finalized, we’ll move toward a public signing. Ceremonies, optics, the whole dance.”

“I’m not here to dance,” Damien replied. “But I’ll consider the music.”

Roul grinned. “Fair.”

Serina leaned forward. “We want joint oversight of Eastern energy corridors. Your naval presence lends credibility to ours.”

Damien countered, “In exchange for?”

“Full access to our reserves at fixed rates,” she said. “And cyber-intelligence sharing. You’re better equipped. We need that edge.”

Anita interjected smoothly, “Virelia would also benefit from Amerian signal infrastructure across its southern coasts. But we’d need guarantees of independence.”

“Of course,” Roul said. “No one wants a puppet state.”

“Yet everyone wants the strings,” Damien said, eyes locked on Roul.

A quiet moment followed.

Killian shifted slightly behind him.

Damien reached for the glass of water in front of him—then paused.

Killian’s hand was already there.

He picked it up, inspected it briefly, then drank a small sip from it himself before offering it to Damien without a word.

Their eyes locked. Long. Silent.

Damien took the glass.

The moment crackled with unspoken tension, and even Roul seemed to notice.

“Your man doesn’t blink,” he commented.

“Good,” Damien said, never breaking eye contact with Killian. “I don’t hire statues.”

Killian finally stepped back, resuming his watchful position. His face was unreadable, but his jaw was clenched tighter than before.

Damien forced himself to return to the conversation.

---

“Regarding the attack on your data servers,” Roul said, voice low now, “We traced the breach to an Amerian IP. We’re not accusing your administration—”

“But you're implying,” Damien interrupted, “that someone within Ameria targeted you.”

Serina Halden offered a thin smile. “We know you’ve had internal issues. That’s not uncommon. But if your enemies are becoming ours, we want to be warned.”

Anita nodded. “We can provide filtered threat intelligence. But not full system access. That’s a line we don’t cross.”

“Then we’ll meet you halfway,” Serina replied. “And review the access protocol before the signing.”

“Agreed,” Damien said. “But we need a commitment. Mutual emergency response. If one of our states is hit—digitally or otherwise—you’ll respond with support.”

Roul considered, then nodded. “Put it in writing. We'll sign it.”

Anita tapped a note into her tablet. “We’ll draft an addendum by tomorrow.”

Serina added, “And we’ll convene legal teams for the formal signing in ten days.”

“Then we’re aligned,” Damien said, standing.

Roul stood as well. “Almost.”

---

As they exited the chamber, escorted through the golden hallway, Roul fell into step beside Damien.

“My sister is getting married tomorrow,” he said. “A small affair. Private, but meaningful. We’d be honored if you and your team attended.”

Damien hesitated. “A wedding?”

“A celebration,” Roul said. “To prove this alliance is more than politics. To show unity—to the world, and to each other.”

Anita raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Killian, still at Damien’s shoulder, remained silent. Watchful.

Damien finally replied, “Then we’ll attend. But don’t expect us to dance.”

Roul chuckled. “Just smile. That’s more than enough.”

---

Back in the vehicle, the silence returned like a weight.

Damien exhaled, staring ahead. “That was cleaner than I expected.”

Killian didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Because even when he said nothing, Damien could feel every word trapped in the silence between them.