Chapter 186 up
Clark chose the place.
That alone irritated Nyla more than she expected.
It was a private meeting room on the upper floor of a government-adjacent building—glass walls frosted just enough to suggest transparency without offering it. The kind of space designed to feel neutral, controlled, safe from interruption. Power liked rooms like this. They made confrontation feel procedural instead of personal.
Nyla arrived early.
She sat straight-backed in the chair opposite Clark’s, hands folded loosely in her lap. From the outside, she might have looked calm. Composed. Almost detached.
Inside, everything was taut.
She had not come here to shout. Anger would be too easy to dismiss. Too emotional. She had come with something far more dangerous.
Conviction.
The door opened precisely on time.
Clark stepped in, jacket draped neatly over one arm, his expression already set into concern that looked practiced but not entirely false.
“You wanted to see me,” he said.
“Yes.”
He paused, clearly registering her tone. He placed his jacket over the chair and sat, studying her with careful attention.
“How is Evan?” he asked.
Nyla’s eyes flicked to his face, searching. “Alive.”
Clark winced faintly. “That’s not—”
“That’s all I’m prepared to say,” she interrupted, still calm.
Silence settled between them.
Clark leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. “You’re angry.”
“Yes,” Nyla said. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you?”
She met his gaze directly. “Because I need to understand whether you let this happen.”
The words landed cleanly. No embellishment. No accusation disguised as a question.
Clark froze.
For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped—not enough to reveal guilt, but enough to show shock. Genuine this time.
“What?” he said sharply.
“You heard me.”
His posture shifted, tension creeping into his shoulders. “That’s a serious claim.”
“So was the abduction of a child,” Nyla replied.
Clark stood abruptly, pacing a short distance before stopping himself. He turned back to her, eyes blazing now.
“You think I orchestrated that?” he demanded. “You think I would put a child in danger?”
“I think you knew it could happen,” Nyla said evenly. “And you didn’t stop it.”
“That’s not the same thing,” Clark snapped.
“It is when you’re the only one with the reach to intervene.”
Clark laughed once, humorless. “This is trauma talking.”
“No,” Nyla said. “This is memory.”
She leaned forward slightly. “The speed, Clark. It was too fast. The men knew exactly what to do. The response afterward—too smooth. And you—” she paused deliberately, “—you knew where Evan was before anyone should have.”
Clark’s jaw tightened.
“I used my resources,” he said. “To find him.”
“You used prepared resources,” she countered. “You already had the channels open.”
His eyes flashed. “Because I plan for contingencies.”
“And was Evan a contingency?” she asked softly.
That stopped him.
Clark stared at her, something wounded flickering across his face. “You think I would sacrifice him to make a point?”
“I think you believed the system would handle it,” Nyla said. “That it would scare him. Pressure him. Maybe pressure me.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Or did you think the risk was acceptable?”
Clark slammed his hand against the table.
“I would never authorize violence,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t say you authorized it,” Nyla replied. “I said you allowed it.”
His voice dropped, dangerous and low. “You have no idea what you’re implying.”
“I know exactly what I’m implying,” she said. “That Evan was used as leverage.”
Clark shook his head, disbelief edging into anger. “You think this is a game? That I’d gamble with a child’s safety to maneuver around Elara?”
Nyla didn’t answer immediately.
That silence was answer enough.
Clark stared at her, something breaking behind his eyes. “So that’s what this is,” he said quietly. “You think this is about her.”
“I think everything is about her right now,” Nyla replied. “And about cleaning up the mess around her. I think my presence complicates that. I think Evan complicates it even more.”
Clark laughed again, bitter this time. “You give yourself too much credit.”
“Do I?” Nyla asked. “Or have I simply become inconvenient?”
Clark stepped closer, bracing his hands on the table, leaning toward her. “Listen to me carefully. If I wanted to hurt you—” his voice hardened, “—I wouldn’t need this.”
The words sliced through the air.
Nyla didn’t flinch.
“That’s supposed to reassure me?” she asked.
“It’s the truth,” Clark said. “You think I’m incapable of subtlety? If I wanted you discredited, isolated, destroyed—this wouldn’t be the method.”
“Then why does it feel like it worked?” Nyla asked quietly.
Clark straightened, anger draining into something rawer.
“You doubt my intentions,” he said. “After everything.”
“Intentions don’t erase outcomes,” Nyla replied. “Evan was taken. I was beaten. And you benefited.”
“I did not benefit,” Clark snapped.
“You gained control,” she said. “You gained leverage. You gained the appearance of resolution.”
Clark looked away, jaw clenched.
For a moment, Nyla thought she saw regret. Or maybe it was something like grief.
But he turned back, expression closed once more.
“There was no order,” he said firmly. “No instruction. No plan involving harm.”
“No written one,” Nyla said.
His eyes narrowed. “Be very careful.”
“With what?” she asked. “Believing my own experience?”
“With accusing the wrong person,” Clark replied. “Because that mistake doesn’t just hurt you. It protects the ones who actually did this.”
Silence fell again.
Nyla searched his face, hoping—against reason—for something definitive. A crack. A confession. Even a slip.
There was nothing.
Just anger. Hurt. And something else she couldn’t quite name.
“You’re asking me to trust you,” she said finally.
“I’m asking you not to project your pain onto me,” Clark replied.
She stood slowly. “Those two things are closer than you think.”
Clark watched her, his voice lower now. “You’re not seeing clearly.”
“Neither are you,” Nyla said. “But I’m done pretending that doesn’t matter.”
She turned toward the door.
Behind the frosted glass wall, a shadow shifted.
Unnoticed by either of them, someone stood just outside—close enough to hear fragments. Raised voices. Sharp words.
A pause.