At His Discretion Novels & Stories

“A vial of her blood. And consent.” I stared at the case. “She’ll never agree.” “Then decide for her,” he said quietly. “You don’t have time for ethics.” I left without answering. By the time I got home, night had fallen again. The apartment lights were dim. Ava was sitting by the window, wrapped in one of my shirts, her eyes following the rain. She looked up when I came in. “You went out,” she said softly. “I had to clear my head.” “Did you?”

Turning on him. “I wasn’t whoring around with anyone I was spending time with someone I have feelings for, and it’s my body I will do with it what I please” she squared off with her father, clearly my girl has a temper and I liked that, but in this moment, I was to pissed at his mark on her that I couldn’t enjoy her defiance.

“ Ok, I’m ready, “ I say to an empty porch. I got dressed in my usual jeans and a flannel. It was my casual and fancy wear. “ Over here, “ he calls. I walk out and look around a bit. All I see are beautiful evergreen trees and a few cherry trees, bushes, and tall green grass. We didn’t bother to cut the grass since we owned such a big plot of land. He appears beside me in my peripheral vision smoking a cigarette. I glare at him again. “ What, it’s not like I’ll die of lung cancer, “ he said pulling the cig out of his mouth. He took a big inhale of it and exhaled it out of his nostrils “There are children here. They don’t need to get a bad idea of doing that, “ Argue. “ Well, it’s not like th

"That's not an answer." "That's the answer I have." He had been quiet for a moment. "I'm adding meal oversight to the managerial duties," he said. "You said you removed that from the list," I said. "I reinstated it," he said. "You can't reinstate something I rejected," I said. "I'm your manager," he said. "I have discretion." "You have audacity," I said. "Also discretion," he said. I pressed my lips together against a laugh. He had heard it anyway.

“The evidence presented at trial was real. Verified. And sufficient for conviction under the law. What counsel characterizes as ‘curation’ was, in fact, containment—of sensitive information that, if mishandled, would have caused further harm to an already compromised victim.” Victim. The word lands on me like a weight. I press a hand to my abdomen instinctively, where the ghost of our lost child still aches. Adrian’s eyes flick to me again—brief, raw, full of everything he can’t say here. My body reacts before I can stop it: that confused, aching awareness of him. Of how close he feels even across the courtroom. Of how easily I could cross the space afterward and let him hold me, even knowin

"Darian. Whatever you came here to ask me this morning whatever Stellan told you I need you to understand something first." "Tell me." "This conversation happens on my terms. Not Stellan's. Not yours." She held his gaze steadily. "When I tell you what you need to know I will tell you completely and honestly. But I will do it when I have decided the moment is right. Not because an attorney called me at eight fifteen on a Tuesday evening and not because your brother decided to use information as leverage." She paused. "Can you respect that?" He looked at her for a long moment. The kind of look that took inventory of everything in the room including the things that weren't visible.

The finding was visible in the stillness, the sudden quiet, the particular expression of satisfaction that crossed Don's face when the thing that had been eluding him had finally been caught. He knew the quality of Don's consideration that meant a decision was imminent, and the different quality that meant the decision was still being turned. The imminent decision was marked by Don's tendency to return to the same subject several times in conversation, each time from a slightly different angle, as if testing the decision against different contexts. The still-being-turned decision was marked by Don's silence, his withdrawal into himself, his unwillingness to talk about the subject at all unti

No one answered immediately. Not Arthur. Not Gabriel. Not Adrian. Not even the man in black. That silence was an answer in itself. Then Adrian spoke quietly. “You don’t say no.” Ama looked up weakly. “What does that mean?” Adrian’s expression tightened. “It means the system doesn’t interpret refusal as final.” A pause. “It interprets it as incomplete understanding.” Gabriel snapped, “That’s not consent!” Adrian didn’t argue. Because he agreed. Arthur stepped forward suddenly.

Active disregard is a choice. He looked up then. "You think I disregard you," he said. "I think you make decisions about my life without asking me and then look confused when I object." "I make decisions that keep you safe." "You make decisions that make you feel better about my safety," I said. "Which is different." The sitting room was very quiet. He set his document down. Giving me his complete attention, which was somehow more unsettling than when he ignored me.

Discipline. A slow, predatory smile touched Albert’s lips. “So. We begin with order. We end with the ultimate surrender.” He placed the die carefully on the glass table. “For Discipline, the transgression must be clear. You have been flawless in following explicit commands. So the transgression must be one of… spirit. Of unspoken defiance.”