The place Cassian chose was not neutral.
Neutrality was a myth people invented when they wanted to feel safe inside someone else's territory.
The building stood at the edge of the old financial district, a repurposed exchange hall long abandoned by legitimate institutions and quietly reclaimed by quieter powers. Stone columns rose like the ribs of something ancient and patient. The lights inside were warm but insufficient, designed to leave corners unresolved, faces partially claimed by shadow.
Aria arrived alone.
Not because she believed Cassian's promise of safety.
But because arriving alone was the only way to deny him narrative leverage.
Two guards waited at the entrance. They did not frisk her. They did not speak. One opened the door.
Inside, Cassian Vale stood with his back to her, hands clasped loosely behind him, studying a mural that depicted merchants weighing gold against ledgers, balance rendered as ritual.
"You're punctual," he said without turning.
