The next morning, Damon discovered that "just watching" was a lie carefully wrapped in good intentions. No one said it aloud, of course, but the amount of preparation around him made it obvious that his presence on that visit would be treated as something delicate, dangerous, and possibly explosive. Ester evaluated his Qi veins twice before breakfast, Aria appeared with a folder full of duplicated documents, and Elizabeth personally chose his clothes as if she were preparing a weapon to be displayed in public.

"Is this necessary?" Damon asked, looking at the dark cloak Elizabeth had placed over the chair.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

"It has silver embroidery."

"Discreet."

"It looks like clothing worn by someone about to announce a hereditary curse."

"Exactly the intended effect."

Damon looked to Ester for support. She was near the window, arms crossed, analyzing the situation with an expression of absolute lack of compassion. "Do not look at me. As long as you do not freeze inside the clothes, you can go dressed as a noble ghost for all I care."

Aria raised her hand from where she sat on the edge of the table. "I voted for the noble ghost look. Elizabeth won because she has more authority and better threatening taste."

"Threatening taste is not a real category," Damon said.

Elizabeth calmly adjusted the cloak’s collar. "It is when one governs long enough."

He ended up putting on the clothes without complaining further, mostly because complaining spent energy and because, unfortunately, Elizabeth was right. The dark fabric made his white hair stand out even more, and the silver embroidery near the collar matched the bluish lines that sometimes appeared beneath his skin. He did not look healthy. Not yet. But he looked dangerous in a silent, controlled way, like a blade kept inside an expensive sheath.

Ester did not seem satisfied when she finished the final evaluation. "You will walk to the carriage, sit during the trip, sit during the meeting, and come back seated. No demonstrations. No releasing Qi. No using this new body as if it were a toy."

"You know I already walk normally."

"You walk normally for short periods."

"That was very specific."

"Because I know exactly how long it takes before you start pretending you are not tired."

Damon closed his mouth.

Aria pointed at him with the folder. "She got you."

Elizabeth simply watched the small defeat with discreet satisfaction. "Morgana is already waiting in the hall. And Damon, remember: today you are not going as an executioner, guard, or declared threat. You are going as an ally."

"An ally who looks like a threat."

"That is an aesthetic advantage."

The phrase stayed with him as they went down to the hall. Damon walked alone, which was already a personal victory, though Ester remained close enough to grab him by the collar if she deemed it necessary. The mansion was busier than usual. Servants carried documents, guards spoke quietly near the entrances, and messengers waited for orders. Arven still looked like a house trying to rebuild its own spine.

Morgana stood at the center of the hall, dressed as Duchess.

Not extravagantly. No heavy jewels or excessive fabrics. But there was authority in the choice of clothing, in her posture, and in the way she held her riding gloves in her hands. The dark coat had the Arven crest embroidered on the shoulder, and the sword at her waist rested there not as decoration, but as a reminder. She looked less exhausted than she had weeks before, which probably meant she had finally accepted sleeping more than three hours a night. Even so, Damon saw the fatigue hidden behind her eyes.

She looked at him.

For one second, the Duchess disappeared.

Only Morgana remained.

Then she breathed, adjusted her expression, and approached. "Are you sure you can manage?"

Damon knew an answer that sounded too confident would irritate Ester and worry Morgana. So he chose the rarest option: moderate honesty. "I can sit and look unpleasant. That is within my current capabilities."

Morgana looked at Elizabeth. "Was it you who taught him that?"

"I refined a natural talent."

"That worries me."

"It should."

Aria opened the folder and showed a set of sheets tied with a blue ribbon. "We have the duplicate records, three receipts, two transport letters, and an old document signed by one of their accountants who probably thought no one would read the footer. I read the footer. The footer is my friend now."

Morgana took the documents and quickly scanned them. "If this is correct, Verden charged the same debt using three different trade names."

"It is correct," Aria said. "And if it is not, I will cry dramatically and blame the handwriting."

Damon looked at Morgana. "Do they know you have this?"

"Not yet."

"Then why did they accept the meeting?"

"Because they think they can pressure me before I manage to prove anything."

"Beautiful confidence."

"Ugly arrogance."

He nodded. "My favorite category."

Ester coughed deliberately.

Damon raised his hands. "Just observing."

The trip to the temporary residence of Verden’s representatives was short, but silent. The carriage passed through the streets of Arven, which still carried marks of the crisis. Some shops had reopened, others remained closed, and there were workers repairing roofs damaged by the riots after the Duchess’s fall. People stopped to watch Morgana’s carriage, some bowing, others simply looking with a mixture of hope and fear.

Damon noticed that Morgana watched everything through the window without changing her expression. That told him more than any report. Every street was a demand. Every face was a reminder. She was not merely negotiating debts. She was trying to prevent an entire duchy from sinking along with the family name.

"You are making that face," he said.

Morgana did not look away from the window. "What face?"

"The one of someone turning responsibility into punishment."

Elizabeth, seated on the other side, crossed her legs. "He is learning to name patterns."

Morgana cast her a look. "Do not start."

"I have not even started."

"You always start before speaking."

Damon smiled, but did not insist. Not there. Not before the meeting. Morgana needed focus, not an emotional discussion inside a carriage. Even so, when she looked back out the window, he noticed that her hand over the documents had relaxed a little. Perhaps it was little. But little was still something.

The residence where Verden’s representatives were staying was near the administrative square, a pale stone house that probably belonged to some minor noble willing to rent prestige for money. Two Verden guards waited at the entrance, wearing armor too polished for men expecting a simple financial conversation. When they saw Morgana, they bowed with formal respect. When they saw Damon behind her, however, their posture changed.

The first guard looked at his white hair.

Then at his eyes.

Then at the cold vapor discreetly escaping his breath, even on that frostless morning.

Damon did nothing.

He only looked back.

The guard looked away first.

Aria, behind him, whispered, "Presence working."

Ester answered in the same tone, "Do not encourage him."

They were led to a spacious room, where three representatives of Verden waited around a long table. The main one was a middle-aged man named Lord Rassel, with a narrow face, carefully combed gray hair, and a smile trained to look cordial without offering anything. Beside him was a younger woman, probably the house lawyer, and a thin accountant holding a folder as if it were a shield.

Morgana entered first.

Elizabeth came at her side, elegant and silent.

Damon entered after them.

The temperature of the room dropped slightly.

Not much.

Enough.

Lord Rassel rose to greet them, but his gaze stopped on Damon for one instant longer than it should have. "Duchess Arven. Lady Elizabeth. We were not informed you would be bringing additional company."

Morgana sat without asking permission. "I was not informed Verden would charge the same debt three times. Yet here we all are, dealing with surprises."

Aria, standing behind her, almost let out a sound of approval. Ester gave her a preventative look.

Lord Rassel maintained his smile, but it grew stiffer. "I believe there has been some misunderstanding in the records of your administration, Duchess. Considering the turbulent period your house went through, it is natural that some documents would be incomplete."

"Mine or yours?"

"Pardon?"

Morgana opened the folder and placed the first document on the table. "Original debt: grain purchase during the third month of the drought. My father’s signature, under direct influence of the former Duchess. Partial payment recorded four months later."

Verden’s accountant adjusted his glasses. "That payment refers to another contract."

Aria slid a second paper to Morgana. Morgana placed it beside the first. "Same value. Same transport date. Same convoy. Same receipt seal."

Verden’s lawyer leaned in to look, and Damon saw the exact moment she noticed the problem. Her mouth closed a little more, and her fingers stopped on the table. Lord Rassel, on the other hand, maintained his smile through sheer political stubbornness.

"Administrative coincidences may occur," he said.

Damon, seated beside Morgana, remained silent.

Elizabeth had been clear.

One or two sentences.

At the right moment.

Morgana placed the third document on the table. "Then this is the third coincidence."

The accountant went pale.

Rassel finally lost part of his cordiality. "Duchess, I would recommend caution before implying bad faith on the part of an allied duchy."

Morgana held his gaze. "I would recommend caution before treating fraud as alliance."

The silence became colder.

Damon had done nothing, but he noticed that his own irritation was affecting the room. A thin layer of frost began to appear on the rim of the water glass in front of him. Ester, leaning near the wall, noticed as well and narrowed her eyes. He breathed slowly and drew the cold back before it could spread.

Rassel saw.

Everyone saw.

He looked at Damon again. "And what exactly is your role in this meeting?"

Damon let the question remain in the air for a second.

Then spoke calmly.

"Today? Witness."

Rassel lifted his chin. "Only that?"

Damon looked at the documents on the table. Then at the accountant. Then back to Rassel. "That depends on you."

The sentence was not loud.

It was not aggressive.

It did not need to be.

Verden’s lawyer took a deep breath, clearly dissatisfied with the direction of the conversation. "Lord Rassel, perhaps it would be prudent for us to review our records before proceeding."

Rassel gave her a hard look. "There is no need."

Elizabeth smiled faintly. "There is a great deal of need."

Morgana placed her hands on the table. "I did not come to ask forgiveness for fabricated debts. I came to offer a way out. Verden recognizes the duplicated charge, cancels the fraudulent interest, and renegotiates the real value with an acceptable deadline. In exchange, Arven does not take this to the ducal council."

Rassel laughed once, low and humorless. "You speak as if you are in a position to threaten anyone."

Damon felt Morgana’s hand tighten around the edge of the table.

Before she could answer, he leaned slightly forward.

The glass in front of him froze completely.

This time, he did not stop it.

"Are you sure you want to maintain that version?" Damon asked.

The room went still.

Aria, behind him, nearly vibrated with contained joy.

Ester closed her eyes as if suffering spiritually.

Elizabeth seemed far too satisfied.

Lord Rassel stared at Damon for long seconds. There was pride on his face, but also calculation. Men like him knew how to measure risk. They knew when a room changed temperature not only because of magic, but because of political position. Damon being alive meant the rumors of death were false. Damon sitting beside Morgana meant she was not alone. Elizabeth being present meant Mirath was watching. And the documents on the table meant Verden did not have as much control as it imagined.

The lawyer discreetly touched Rassel’s arm. "My lord."

He did not look at her.

But he listened.

The accountant looked as if he wanted to disappear into his own folder.

Morgana, noticing the shift, did not press immediately. She only waited. Damon recognized that and felt a pang of silent pride. She was learning to let silence work for her. Sometimes, in negotiation, speaking too much offered escape. Silence forced the other side to listen to its own fear.

Finally, Rassel sat again.

The smile had vanished.

"We can review the values."

Morgana tilted her head. "You can cancel the fraudulent values."

"Duchess..."

"I brought copies for you. The originals are safe."

Verden’s lawyer closed her eyes for an instant. That probably confirmed the worst for her: they could not simply destroy the papers.

Damon looked at Morgana, and she did not return the look, but he noticed the corner of her mouth almost move. Almost. It was a small victory, but a real one. She did not look less tired. She did not look less burdened. But in that moment, she was not alone before the table.

Rassel took a deep breath, defeated just enough not to admit defeat. "Verden will accept a formal review. Without prior recognition of fraud."

Elizabeth stepped in before Morgana could answer. "Prior recognition will not be necessary if the review is concluded within three days and the interest is suspended in the meantime."

The lawyer nodded quickly. "That is acceptable."

Rassel looked at her as if considering firing her on the spot.

She looked back like someone who preferred losing her position to being dragged into a formal accusation.

Morgana gathered the documents calmly. "Excellent. Then we are beginning to understand one another."

Damon leaned back in the chair, feeling his body complain about the time spent sitting, the tension, and the cold he held beneath his skin. It was not a battle, not in the usual sense. No one had bled. No one had screamed. No sword had been drawn. Even so, he felt that familiar pressure after a difficult confrontation. There was victory there. Partial, fragile, bureaucratic. But victory.

When they left the residence, Aria waited until they were out of the guards’ reach to release the breath she had been holding. "I take back everything I said about political meetings being boring. That was delicious."

Ester looked at Damon. "You froze the glass."

"It was controlled."

"It was provocation."

"Controlled."

Elizabeth walked beside Morgana with a satisfied expression. "It was useful."

Ester pointed at her. "You are part of the problem."

"I am part of the solution."

"Sometimes the two look far too similar."

Morgana remained silent until they reached the carriage. Only then did she look at Damon, and the seriousness on her face softened a little. "You should have waited for my authorization."

"Probably."

"I did not need you to speak."

"I know."

"But it helped."

Damon nodded, accepting the correction and the thanks at the same time. "Then I will consider that I was not entirely useless."

Morgana looked at the cloudy sky for a few seconds before answering. "No. Today you were irritatingly useful."

Aria placed both hands over her chest. "How beautiful. That is practically a declaration of administrative love."

Morgana entered the carriage without looking at her. "Aria."

"Yes, terrifying Duchess?"

"Get in before I renegotiate your function."

Aria entered immediately.

Damon laughed quietly, but the laugh turned into a small cough. Ester appeared beside him at the same instant, firm, attentive, ready to turn worry into a scolding. He raised a hand before she could say anything.

"I am fine."

"You are tired."

"Also."

"When we return, you are going to rest."

"Yes."

Ester seemed suspicious of how easily he answered. "Without arguing?"

"Without arguing."

She narrowed her eyes. "That is worrying."

Elizabeth heard from inside the carriage and commented, "Perhaps he is maturing."

Damon placed one foot on the step and held the side of the door. "Do not spread dangerous rumors."

Morgana, already seated, looked at him with something close to a smile.

And for an instant, amid debts, threats, and political ruins, Damon felt that perhaps this was the beginning of something possible. Not a quick solution. Not a miraculous cure for Arven. Only a method. One step at a time. One meeting at a time. One arrogant enemy at a time.

And, if necessary, one frozen glass at a time.