"Fine," Violet said, arms crossed, chin lifted like she hadn't just been dragged blindfolded here. "What is the plan?"
Mia let the silence stretch a moment longer than necessary. She had learned, somewhere in the last year of watching people twice her age scheme and posture, that silence was its own kind of weapon. Nobody at this table trusted her yet. Good. She didn't need their trust. She needed their obedience.
"The plan," Mia said, "starts with everyone in this room understanding something clearly. This is not a negotiation between equals. I own this table. I own this room. And for the length of this conversation, every one of you is going to sit in the seats I've given you and listen."
Wayne's mouth twisted, something between disbelief and old, wounded pride. "You've changed," he said quietly. Not an accusation. Almost a mourning.
"You made sure of that," Mia said, not unkindly, but without softness either. "Let's not pretend you get to be surprised by who I became."
