Chapter 66| Nobody’s Property
The formal proposals arrived within hours of the verdict becoming public, delivered through WHRIB diplomatic channels with a speed that spoke volumes about how closely various governments had already been monitoring their case.
"Seven nations," Myria reported, scrolling through the accumulated correspondence with visible, mounting disbelief. "Formal recruitment offers, ranging from generous stipends and guaranteed resources to, in one particularly bold proposal, an offer of full citizenship and a private island."
"A private island," Irene repeated, sitting up sharply. "Okay, I’ll admit, that one’s tempting."
"It’s not real independence if we’re bought and paid for by a single government," Vivian pointed out, though her tone carried more amusement than genuine concern. "Regardless of how nice the island happens to be."
Allen studied the accumulated proposals with careful, measured consideration, weighing the genuine appeal of stability and resources against the very real cost such arrangements would inevitably carry. "What’s the common thread in all of these?" he asked.
"Exclusivity," Myria said immediately. "Every single proposal requires primary loyalty to that specific nation, restricting our ability to operate independently or answer directly to WHRIB assignments without that government’s explicit approval first."
"Which defeats the entire purpose of what we’ve built," Allen said. "We didn’t spend a year clawing our way out from under my family’s control just to hand that same control over to a different authority, however generous their initial offer sounds."
Everlyn’s notepad appeared, thoughtful and considered. ’What if we don’t choose exclusivity at all? What if we stay independent, and simply work with whoever needs us, on our own terms?’
"That’s considerably harder to manage logistically," Myria said, though her tone carried clear, growing appreciation for the idea rather than dismissal. "But not impossible. Fallen Crown already holds independent guild status through the Association. Extending that same independence to international operations, rather than accepting exclusive national allegiance, keeps us answerable to our own judgment rather than any single government’s political priorities."
"And if that upsets some of these governments?" Irene asked.
"Then it upsets them," Allen said simply. "We’ve survived worse than a few disappointed diplomats. I’d rather maintain our independence and disappoint seven nations than surrender it and become someone else’s convenient political asset."
They drafted their formal response together that evening, carefully worded to express genuine gratitude for the interest shown while firmly declining exclusive allegiance to any single nation, offering instead continued cooperative engagement through WHRIB channels on a case-by-case basis.
The reactions, once the response went out, proved considerably more varied than Allen anticipated — several governments accepted the position graciously, expressing continued interest in future cooperative engagement; others responded with visible, if diplomatically restrained, disappointment; one particularly persistent delegation continued submitting revised proposals for nearly a full week before finally, reluctantly, accepting Fallen Crown’s decision.
"You know," Vivian said, settling beside Allen one evening as the diplomatic correspondence finally began tapering off, "a year ago, you were being told you were worthless by your own family. Now you’re turning down offers of citizenship and private islands from actual governments."
"Funny how things change," Allen said, though the observation carried genuine, quiet wonder beneath its casual delivery.
"Not funny," Vivian corrected gently. "Earned. Every single step of it." She leaned into his side, contentment evident despite the accumulated stress of the preceding weeks. "I’m proud of you. All of this, and you’re still the same person who cooked us that first meal in a house that was falling apart at the seams."
Allen felt something warm settle in his chest at the observation, reaching for her hand with quiet, grateful certainty. "I’d like to think that part never changes," he said. "Regardless of how large everything else around it gets."
Their moment of quiet reflection was interrupted by Myria’s tablet chiming with a fresh notification, her expression shifting into focused, immediate attention as she reviewed the incoming message.
"That’s from WHRIB directly," she said. "Formal notice. The Jenunl Island briefing has been scheduled. And apparently, given the scale of what’s being planned, we’ll be meeting someone considerably higher up the Inquisitor chain than anyone we’ve encountered so far."
The weight of that announcement settled quickly over their earlier contentment, and Allen felt the familiar, steady resolve reassert itself despite the daunting scope of whatever waited just beyond this next, considerably more consequential threshold.
"Who, exactly?" Irene asked, some of her earlier restless energy returning now that actual forward motion seemed imminent again.
"The message doesn’t specify directly," Myria said, scrolling further through the notification’s details. "Only that our briefing will be conducted under the direct oversight of someone holding Vice Commander rank." She glanced up, something sharp and considering behind her expression. "Reyes mentioned once that fewer than ten Hunters in history have met the Vice Commander personally. If that’s accurate, this Jenunl Island situation is considerably more severe than even the Council’s earlier briefing suggested."
"Great," Irene muttered, though her flames flickered with anticipatory rather than anxious energy. "No pressure, then."
Vivian’s expression grew thoughtful, head tilted as she considered the implications. "It also means whatever’s happening on that island carries enough weight that WHRIB is willing to expose one of its most closely guarded figures directly to the situation. That’s not a decision made lightly, in an organization this cautious about its own hierarchy."
"Then we prepare accordingly," Allen said, some of the evening’s earlier warmth giving way to focused, deliberate resolve. "Whatever this briefing reveals, I want us walking in as ready as we can possibly manage."
Myria nodded, already pulling up whatever fragmentary historical records the Association’s public archives contained regarding the original Jenunl Island catastrophe, and Everlyn’s notepad appeared once more, steady despite the mounting tension.
’Whatever it is,’ she wrote, ’we’ve faced impossible things before. We’ll face this too.’
Allen glanced around at his wives — Myria’s sharp, focused determination, Irene’s restless anticipation, Everlyn’s quiet steadiness, Vivian’s calm, watchful readiness — and felt the same unshakeable certainty settle into place that had carried them through every previous crisis since a cold car ride into Hegeville had first thrown five broken people together.
"Together," he said simply, and around the room, four voices, and one silent, determined nod, answered in perfect, practiced unison.