Chapter 70: Chapter 71: Get out

Kaelen’s pov

No one moved.

The silence stretched, heavy and absolute, pressing down on all of us like a physical weight. I could hear my own heartbeat, the distant sound of celebration from the brewery, the soft rustle of someone shifting their weight uncomfortably.

Everyone was looking at Lena. At me.

Then Lena stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sound was harsh, jarring, like a scream in the quiet.

“Fine.” Her voice was tight, controlled rage barely contained behind clenched teeth. “You want absolute loyalty? You want people who’ll follow your orders without question, without thought, without ever challenging you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Then you don’t want me. You never did.”

“Lena–” Marcus started, reaching toward her.

“No.” She cut him off, her eyes never leaving mine. “He’s made himself very clear. I’m compromised. I’m emotional. I’m letting personal feelings cloud my judgment.” Her laugh was bitter, sharp as broken glass. “Funny how that only matters when it’s my feelings, not his. Funny how only I’m the problem.”

She moved toward the door, and I could see her hands shaking. The rage was barely contained now, trembling through her whole body.

Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it, forced the words out.

“You’re planning a direct confrontation with the queen’s guard, putting all our lives at risk, every person in this room, every person who’s ever trusted you, and you expect me to believe that’s strategic?” She stopped at the door, turned back. “That it’s not just you trying to prove something to her? To yourself? That it’s not about making her see you, making her hurt, making her pay attention?”

Her composure finally broke. The anger cracked, and underneath I saw something raw and wounded.

“You say I’m compromised, but at least I know what I want. At least I’m honest about why I’m here.” Her voice rose. “You? You can’t even admit to yourself that every move you make is still about her. Still trying to get her attention. Still trying to make her choose you, even if it’s as an enemy instead of a lover.”

She gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, holding herself up.

“Get out.” My voice was cold. Colder than I’d meant it to be. “If you can’t follow orders, if you can’t trust my leadership, if you’re going to stand there and throw accusations instead of helping, then you’re right. I don’t want you here.”

She flinched like I’d struck her.

“Gladly.” She yanked the door open. The handle slammed against the wall. “I’m done. I’m done being collateral damage in your tragic love story. I’m done watching you destroy everything we built because you can’t decide whose side you’re on. I’m done wasting my loyalty on someone who’ll never see me as anything more than a convenient tool.”

She looked around the room one last time, at faces that wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Good luck with your glorious revolution.” Her voice dripped with bitterness. “I hope it’s everything you sacrificed for. I hope the blood and the pain and the deaths are worth it.” Her gaze returned to me, and there was something broken in it beneath the anger. “I hope she’s worth it when it all comes crashing down.”

Then she was gone, the door slamming behind her hard enough to rattle the walls.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I felt the absence like a wound, like something torn out of me that I hadn’t known was there. But I couldn’t let it show. Couldn’t let them see that her words had landed, that every accusation had found its mark. Couldn’t let them know that part of me wanted to go after her, to take it back, to find some way to fix what I’d just broken.

Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her continue. The constant undermining, the disrespect, the way she questioned every decision, the way she looked at me like I was already a traitor, it would have destroyed us eventually.

Something had to break.

I just hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

I turned back to the table, picked up the mask, and forced my voice to steady. Forced my hands to stop trembling.

“Where were we?” I looked around at the remaining faces. “Right. The plan.”

Marcus cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Kaelen, maybe we should–”

“The plan,” I repeated, harder this time. “We don’t have time for sentiment. We don’t have time to chase after people who won’t follow orders. Lena made her choice. Now we make ours.”

Vera was studying me with those sharp old eyes, the ones that had seen too much to be fooled by anything. But she said nothing. Just watched.

“The runner said they’re setting a trap at the southern depot. Guards everywhere, waiting for us to show up.” I set the mask down on the table, keeping my voice level. “We’re not avoiding it. We’re not hitting somewhere else. We’re giving them exactly what they want, a direct confrontation.”

Silence. Then Dmitri spoke carefully. “You’re serious about this? Open battle with the queen’s guard? Not sneaking around, not stealing and running, actual fighting?”

“Completely serious.” I looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes. “We’ve been operating in shadows, stealing grain, spreading rumors, hiding behind masks. It’s made us look like petty criminals. Nuisances. Problems to be solved by city guards and informants.”

I leaned forward, letting them feel the weight of my words.

“But if we face them openly, if we show the people of Dravara that ordinary citizens are willing to stand against the crown’s forces, armed or not, trained or not, that changes everything. It stops being about theft and starts being about resistance. It stops being about one masked figure and starts being about a movement.”

“It also gets us all killed,” Soren pointed out, his voice flat. “The queen’s guard isn’t going to run away because a bunch of hungry dock workers throw rocks at them. They’re trained. They’re armed. They’ll cut through us.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t pretend this was safe. “Maybe some of us die. Maybe a lot of us die. But even if we lose, even if we’re slaughtered, the message gets sent. That resistance is possible. That the crown can be challenged. That people don’t have to accept oppression quietly and hope it gets better.”

Marcus was nodding slowly, starting to understand where I was going with this. “You want to make us martyrs. You want people to see us dying and think, ’If they were willing to die, maybe this is worth fighting for.’”

“I want to make us a movement.” I leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “Right now, The Voice is one person. One symbol. Easy to dismiss, easy to hunt, easy to kill. But if hundreds of people march on that depot, if they see ordinary citizens standing up to armed guards, refusing to back down even when it’s dangerous, that’s bigger than me. That’s bigger than any of us. That’s something they can’t kill by catching one man.”

“And if the guards open fire?” Rachel’s voice was quiet, troubled. “If people die right there, in front of everyone, bleeding in the street, what then?”

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