They took in the scene in one sweep: Marren slumped against the wall, cradling his ruined chest and hand. Venn collapsed, skin blistered where Jakk had held on. Jakk himself unconscious beside him, heat still rippling off his skin in faint waves. Rell and Tamsin hunched behind the half-table. Gin propped against the other side, bleeding and stubbornly upright.
One of the guards—a woman with a scar along her jaw and tired eyes—met Gin's gaze.
He straightened as much as he could, readying himself to swing, crumble, or both.
Silence.
Then, from somewhere in the back of the squad, someone laughed. It sounded frightened and wild and almost relieved.
The woman with the scar glanced at Marren again. At Venn. At the reef sword lying on the floor, stilling.
Her grip tightened on her baton.
No one moved.
Gin saw it then—the subtle loosening in their shoulders, the way their eyes didn't quite hide the flicker of something like… hope.
Most of them hadn't followed Marren because they loved him.
They'd followed him because they were afraid not to.
"Stand down," the scarred guard said quietly.
Her squad hesitated only a second, then lowered their batons.
Gin stared. "That's… not what I was expecting."
"We heard your scuffle from upstairs," she said. "When we opened this door, we were expecting to clean up what was left of your body. But I think secretly, we all hoped something like this would happen. Marren added families to the ledger who were supposed to be clear. Said it was necessary to meet quotas." Her jaw clenched. "My brother's name was on that list."
Rell made a strangled sound.
"We do what we're told," another guard muttered. "We don't take pleasure in it."
The scarred guard stepped carefully around the fallen sword, like it might reach for her ankles. She knelt beside Marren, fingers at his throat.
"Alive," she announced. No particular joy. No particular sadness.
She looked up at Gin.
"What do you want done?" she asked.
The question landed like a missed step.
Gin blinked. "I… what?"
"You started this," she said, nodding at the wrecked room. "You and Mirefell. Holst and Marren are Hydrarchy officers. Normally we'd haul you all in and let someone upchain decide. But upchain is a long way off." Her gaze flicked to Tamsin. To Rell. Back to Gin. "So. What do you want done?"
He hadn't been ready for that.
Not for responsibility.
His bones hummed uneasily. Choice.
He looked at Venn.
Once a terrified boy in a rowboat. Now a man who'd chosen enforcement because it paid in structure and walls and the illusion of safety. Burned, broken, but breathing.
He looked at Marren.
The man who'd pulled them from the water and taught them their lives were lines in his ledger. Who'd used "debt" as a leash and called it salvation.
He looked at Jakk.
Jakk, who'd finally stepped between the machine and its next victim. Who'd held on even when it meant burning himself and his not-quite-brother both.
Gin exhaled.
"If you're looking for someone to take responsibility," he spoke. "Or someone to guide you to a better future. I'm not that guy. I only beat up Marren because he pissed me off. I cannot be tied down by responsibility once again, so do whatever you want. I did, and it seemed to work out great."
She took a deep breath.
"Lock Marren and Venn up," she said. "Get them medical attention. And start gathering incriminating documents, that bastard ignored every Hydrachy code in the book if it meant achieving his quotas."
"That's mutiny," one of the guards said under his breath, half awe, half terror.
"It's simply maintaining the balance," Gin countered. "You're fixing something that would've failed and taken the hull with it. Marren would be proud."
The scarred guard huffed a laugh that sounded like it hurt her. "I like this one," she told her squad.
She jerked her chin. "Secure them. Carefully. I'm not losing any fingers to that sword."
As they moved, she glanced back at Gin. "And what about you?"
Gin's vision was smearing at the edges. "I'd very much like to fall over now."
"Permission granted," she said.
He let go.