Chapter 17 — Terms and Conditions
Direction is a dangerous thing.
Fear scatters you. Power tempts you. But direction—direction convinces you that every step is necessary.
We followed the cracks.
Not literally at first. We skirted the fractured plain, keeping to the high ground, but my attention kept drifting downward. The Shard tugged—not insistently, just enough to remind me the diagram was still there, quietly updating.
Puck noticed. Of course he did.
"You're doing it again," he said. "That look. Like you're reading something only you can see and judging us for not keeping up."
"I'm not judging," I said.
"You are absolutely indexing," he replied.
Valerius slowed her pace until she matched mine. "What do you see?"
"Fault lines," I said after a moment. "Not physical ones. Places where reality keeps correcting because the original decision was bad."
She absorbed that. "Bad according to whom?"
I grimaced. "That's the problem."
By evening, the land flattened into a basin of pale soil and stunted grass. Wind moved through it in steady, approved patterns. Too steady. Like a background process.
At the basin's center stood a structure.
Not an obelisk this time.
A pavilion.
Open-sided, supported by thin metal columns etched with faint symbols that hurt to look at if I stared too long. Beneath it sat a single table and two chairs.
Only two.
Puck hovered closer to my ear. "I hate when furniture feels intentional."
The Shard pulsed.
Recognition.
"They're not hiding anymore," Valerius said softly.
"No," I agreed. "They're inviting."
As we approached, the wind died.
A figure sat at the table, hands folded neatly, posture perfect. No mask. No robe. Just a person—middle-aged, unremarkable, wearing plain dark clothes.
They looked up and smiled.
"Arthur Hale," they said. "Thank you for coming."
My mouth went dry. "We didn't agree to anything."
"No," the figure said pleasantly. "But you did meet the criteria."
They gestured to the empty chair opposite them.
"Sit," they said. "This will be easier if you do."
Valerius's blade slid halfway free.
The figure glanced at it, unconcerned. "Violence would be inefficient here."
"And consent?" I asked.
They smiled wider. "Optional. But appreciated."
I sat.
The chair was solid. Real. Annoyingly comfortable.
The figure extended a hand. "Auditor Prime Seraphine. Acting under Curator mandate."
I didn't shake it.
They didn't seem offended.
"You've caused significant deviation in a short time," Seraphine continued. "You interfered with local stabilization, nullified a corrector, and declared categorical exemption."
"I didn't declare anything," I said. "I refused."
Seraphine nodded. "Functionally identical."
Puck floated into view. "You people ever get tired of talking like manuals?"
"No," Seraphine said calmly. "Manuals are honest."
The Shard hummed, low and tense.
"This is the review," I said.
"This is the conversation before the review," Seraphine corrected. "We prefer to establish expectations."
"I don't work for you," I said.
Seraphine folded their hands. "That has not been proposed."
"Yet."
"Correct."
They leaned forward slightly. "You are an anomaly that closes margins. That is… rare."
"Dangerous," Valerius said.
"Expensive," Seraphine countered. "Which is why we're here."
I frowned. "You want me to stop."
Seraphine considered. "Ideally? Yes. Realistically? No."
The admission hit harder than a threat.
"You can't stop me," I said.
"No," Seraphine agreed. "And eliminating you would introduce unacceptable collateral."
Puck made a soft, incredulous sound. "Wow. He's too annoying to kill."
"Precisely," Seraphine said.
I clenched my jaw. "So what do you want?"
Seraphine slid a thin sheet across the table.
It wasn't paper.
It was margin.
Flattened. Stabilized.
Terms.
"You continue operating," Seraphine said. "Within limits."
Valerius stiffened. "You're offering conditional autonomy."
"Yes," Seraphine replied. "With oversight."
I didn't touch the sheet. "And if I refuse?"
Seraphine's smile faded—just a little. "Then the audit escalates."
"To what?"
Seraphine met my eyes directly. "To authorship."
The word landed like a blade.
"You don't get to author people," I said quietly.
Seraphine tilted their head. "We already do. We simply prefer when they don't notice."
The Shard surged, vibrating hard enough to make my teeth ache.
Careful.
I forced myself to breathe.
"This isn't a deal," I said. "It's a leash."
Seraphine nodded. "Yes."
At least they were honest.
I looked at Valerius. At Puck.
At the basin, the cracks beneath it, the places that hurt.
"I won't take your terms," I said finally.
Seraphine exhaled. Not annoyed. Disappointed.
"As expected," they said. "But understand this, Arthur Hale—refusal does not mean freedom."
"I know," I said. "It means negotiation isn't over."
Seraphine stood.
The pavilion shuddered, then dissolved into the wind, leaving only open ground and the three of us.
Seraphine's voice lingered, no longer attached to a body.
> Terms will update.
Compliance window remains open.
The wind returned.
The basin felt colder.
Puck let out a long breath. "So. No contract. No job. Still hunted."
I stared at the empty space where Seraphine had been.
"Not hunted," I said.
Valerius watched me carefully. "Then what?"
"Evaluated," I replied. "In real time."
The Shard hummed—steady, defiant.
Somewhere, far beyond the sky, a system adjusted its thresholds.
The terms had been offered.
And I had just declined them.
Which meant the next chapter wouldn't be about rules—
It would be about consequences.