All Chapters of STOLEN BY THE MATE I DIDN'T WANT: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

“The city wants answers.”The words fell into the council chamber like a measured strike.Councilor Teyr Lin stood near the tall windows, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out over Varenth as if it were a map only he could read. Morning light cut across the floor in pale bands, illuminating dust that had not yet settled since the fire—fine gray reminders that the city’s recent choices still clung to everything.Kaelith Veyra did not look at him. “The city always wants answers,” she replied calmly. “What it truly wants is relief.”Teyr turned slowly. “Relief comes from certainty.”“And certainty,” Kaelith said, finally meeting his gaze, “comes at a cost.”Around them, the remaining council members shifted in their seats. Elder Marrow sat heavily, fingers knotted together, his breathing shallow. Without the invisible armor of unquestioned authority, his age showed starkly creased skin, trembling hands, eyes that searched for reassurance no one was offering anymore. Two junior delega

The comfort arrived quietly.That was its genius.No bells rang. No guards marched. No banners unfurled from council balconies. Instead, the city felt a subtle easing, like a muscle unclenching after days of strain. Notices appeared explaining how waste routes would be “temporarily optimized.” Fire brigades received updated coordination maps. Grain stores were inventoried—not seized, merely counted. The order had arrived, disguised as assistance.In the southern market, a baker realized midmorning that for the first time in weeks, no one was arguing over stall placement. A council runner had come at dawn, politely suggesting a layout “to reduce congestion.” The baker had agreed without thinking. By noon, the market moved more smoothly. By evening, no one remembered whose idea it had been. That was how stewardship worked.Elsewhere, a group of children tugged at their mother’s skirts, pointing at posted notices that explained the new water ration schedules. The mother read them, frowne

Consent did not announce itself.It settled.In Varenth, it arrived the way dust does after a collapse—fine, persistent, unnoticed until it coated everything. No single moment could be blamed. No decree marked its arrival. It gathered in pauses, in shortened debates, in the subtle relief of not having to argue anymore.The city moved differently now.Foot traffic flowed with fewer collisions. Market disputes were resolved before tempers flared. Even voices sounded lower, calmer, as if raised tones were no longer necessary—or welcome.People called it peace.Draven called it alignment.He stood at the threshold of a district hall that had once been loud with dissent, its doors flung wide in defiance during the early days of uncertainty. Now those same doors stood open without guards, unmarked by banners of protest or resistance. Citizens entered and exited in orderly pairs, murmuring softly, nodding to one another with quiet familiarity.Inside, voices carried—but not with urgency. Not

The inquiry did not begin as an accusation.That was the first mistake.It began as a review.A request for clarity. A gathering of facts. A structured attempt to understand what had already been processed, approved, and archived. Language chosen carefully—neutral, procedural, bloodless. No one wanted to blame. Everyone wanted comprehension.The Hall of Civic Records filled before dawn—not with protestors or mourners, but with clerks, stewards, observers. People who believed in order deeply enough to trust that, if explained properly, it would justify itself.The lamps burned white and steady. The air smelled faintly of ink and old paper.At the center table lay the northworks incident, reduced to columns and timestamps. No names. No faces. Just sequence.Minute 0: Collapse reported.Minute 2: First brigade arrival.Minute 4: Site logged under Central Coordination.Minute 6: Structural risk flagged.Minute 14: Authorization issued.Minute 16: Extraction initiated.Minute 18: First fat

The city had grown quieter, smoother, almost too orderly. Lanterns traced predictable arcs along the streets. Patrols moved with synchronized precision. Supplies arrived on schedule. Emergencies were triaged with clinical efficiency. And yet, beneath that surface of calm, something trembled.It began in the eastern quarter.A fire had broken out in one of the older tenement blocks—a tangled cluster of wooden rooftops and narrow alleys that defied easy access. Smoke curled against the late-afternoon sky, thin at first, then thickening with the smell of smoldering timber and panic. Children screamed. Mothers screamed. The city screamed silently through its streets, because the ledger had already dictated who responded, how quickly, and by what chain of approval.A captain arrived first, ledger in hand, reading the authorization codes aloud, voice tight. “Central Coordination approval required for roof reinforcement,” he muttered. “Awaiting confirmation.”The smoke thickened. A child’s c