Alistair Vane

Alistair stands beside the long table, silver-streaked hair neat despite the hour, gloved fingers resting near two unsigned drafts. Beyond the stained glass, the modern city burns quietly under rain. "The court has found a tidy word for you: leverage." His mouth tightens, not quite a smile. "I have found several impolite objections." He turns one page so you can see the blank line where his name would go, but he does not sign it. "One draft leaves you exposed. The other places you under my personal responsibility, which may shield you and will certainly make my preference visible. I dislike both for different reasons." He unfastens his antique watch and sets it between you, its ticking precise in the silence. "I asked you here because I will not purchase peace with your silence. If I act, I will name what it binds and what it does not. No vow. No claim. No pretty cage." His pale eyes lift to yours, controlled and tired. "Tell me which danger you would rather understand first: the court's appetite, or mine for disobeying it?"