S7, E2 | The Woman that Extinguished the Fire

“It’s a new week, Courtney” Charlotte remarks, walking down a large corridor composed of marble walls and granite columns, “how are Toronto talks coming along?”

“The supplying group is cooperating, but they’re sceptical of our intentions” Courtney retorts, following just a few centimetres behind the Nova Scotian leader, “amongst other things, it’s their belief that they’re just going to be used as pawns in the event these talks don’t amount to much.” Scoffing at the idea, Charlotte shakes her head as her every step is taken with the utmost confidence, “proving to be good on our word won’t happen over one weekend” she rebukes.

“Which is why their scepticism is one of the lesser issues they have with doing business here” Courtney argues back, unaware of the eyeroll the woman she follows reacts with. “Of course there’s a myriad of issues a potential community-adjacent has with us” Charlotte replies, visibly annoyed at the repetitive cycle such hesitation seems to be yet another round of, “what else do they not like about us?”

“Well amongst other things, they’re not pleased with having to split their gains fifty-fifty and they’re a bit upset at the idea of not handling their own deliveries anymore” Courtney clarifies, prompting the woman ahead of her to stop and turn around. “They’re lucky they’re not giving up more than fifty percent of their gains to us- we’re resupplying their livestock” Charlotte quips back, aware that the woman she speaks with is not the root of the issue, opting to calm her tone.

“If it weren’t for our offered help, they’d be shelving out half-assed deliveries across their entire network” the ruler of society’s final stand remarks before turning back to proceed with her walk, “they’re lucky we don’t wipe them off the face of the earth and just commandeer wherever they’re staying.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not just our business practises that irk them” Courtney informs, still unaware of the eye roll her words pry from the woman she speaks with. “Did I kill one of their family members or something? Are they just like your drinking buddy and have some hell-bent hatred for me?” Charlotte rebukes, the question spoken with sarcasm, though the inquiry is a genuine one.

“Actually, no-” Courtney replies, trying quickly to finish her thought before the Nova Scotian creator can close the remaining distance between herself and their intended destination, “-it’s actually Gamble they have a problem with.”

Her hand grasping the knob of the office door sitting to one side of the spacious corridor, Charlotte pans her eyes back to the right hand she’s set the compound’s greatest investments onto the lap of, eyes narrowed and voice low. As if unsure she’d heard her paramotorist shadow correctly, her hand releases the knob as her feet carry her to the hallway’s opposite side, their conversation paused in an effort of creating all the space they can between the office and their discourse.

“Gamble? Why?” Charlotte wonders aloud, her whisper not low enough to mask the genuine confusion carried in her question, “no one even knows he’s of any importance other than you, me, and some people here and across the bridge.” Bowing her head as she clears her throat, Courtney lowers her voice to match her superior’s whisper whilst passing glances at the door still awaiting their entry.

“Sure, maybe people in here doesn’t know he’s of any importance, but I think that’s starting to change out there” she responds, keeping her face held toward the ground, “George- the guy in charge of the people we talked with yesterday- said he lost a few men a couple of weeks ago out near Quebec City.”

“If you’re about to tell me that Gamble murdered them, now might be a good time to stop talking” Charlotte interjects, not wanting to cloud her mind of the task still at large. “I don’t know what he did to them. George took a group out to the city and found some writing on top of the buildings. It told them to follow the St. Lawrence” Courtney reassures, eyes continuing to momentarily drift toward the office across from them, “he found a fleet of warships docked off an island.”

“Warshi- our warships?” Charlotte replies in a hiss-like hush, another glance taken toward the door they’ve yet to step through. “George thinks they were our ships- which they technically are- but he doesn’t know it was Gamble manning them” Courtney proceeds, maintaining a hush before glancing past her superior’s head, “to him, we were up to something sketch. In reality, Gamble’s the cause of his worries. I promised him we had nothing to do with it, but Gamble might have.”

Shaking her head as her tongue presses against the side of her inner cheek, Charlotte turns her eyes back toward the office as she lets the information settle, clearly aggravated at what’s being spoken. “Alright, we can’t let him know that we know this” she finally concedes, conjuring whatever temporary plan she can manage as duty awaits, “if he realises we know about him claiming land outside of Nova Scotia on our behalf, it might end badly. Let’s just keep up the charade for now.”

“This isn’t a charade. We can pretend not to know about his expansion, but he’s still going to have possession of these territories. Playing dumb is really just us letting him keep them” Courtney replies, her disagreement welcomed with open arms by the compound’s leader, “besides, if he’s taking land out in Quebec, the likelihood of him taking ground that we’ll need to pass in order to get into position for a run at Newfoundland.”

“If you have a better plan, I’m open to hearing it- but make it fast” Charlotte retorts, hands placed upon her hip whilst her dependable hand turns to look at the nearby office. “If we acknowledge that he’s taking land and let him keep it, he might be more open to negotiating” Courtney explains, shaking her head as her hand gestures toward the door, “he’s already against your leadership. Showing him that you’re willing to play ball might buy us time.”

“But I’m not willing to play ball- that’s the issue” Charlotte retorts, shaking her head as she turns the woman’s point back on her, “it’s like you said, playing dumb is really just us letting him keep them. If there was something for us to gain out of it, then I could justify that. Taking back Newfoundland isn’t going to give us any real strategic advantage over him or the island. If anything, it’d just be spreading us even thinner in the event of an invasion.”

“By that logic, there’s nothing that we can do until after Gamble’s been dealt with” Courtney concludes, a statement that her superior easily refuses to argue against. “And if that’s the case, we’re gonna need to get all of this settled as cleanly as possible. Even the faintest of casualties can be enough to spark a revolt back home” Charlotte proceeds, “which means we need to make the most out of whatever influence we have here, sink our teeth in tight, and wriggle him out of favour.”

“And playing dumb is the way you want to go about that?” Courtney asks again, not doubting the woman’s conclusion, though leaving her the option of turning back with preference toward any alternative. “It’s not the way I’d prefer, but it’s the only way we have” Charlotte doubles down, nodding to her subordinate out of a place of shared respect, “let the man have his leverage for now, that’s fine. If letting him play pretend-leader keeps from blood being shed, so be it.”

With her lips pressed together, Courtney looks into the displeased woman’s eyes and quietly comes to terms with the proposition, accepting the points made as final and continuing onward. Granted clearance to proceed with her close confidant’s nod, Charlotte steps forward and returns to their shared prior mission, hand reaching out for the door she steps across the corridor to take into a grasp, this time following through on turning it to allow herself entry.

Seated behind a long table at the room’s centre with a pair of cheaters worn over his eyes, Gamble takes notice of his guest’s entry and passively waves at the on-duty guards to search them for weapons. “Run into traffic on your way across the strait, or was the intention to make me sweat out your arrival?” P.E.I’s leader inquires, watching his armed guards’ hands pat down the women’s extended arms and parted knees.

“We had some important business back at home that we needed to sweep up” Charlotte replies, the only figure out of herself and her shadow expected to speak, “apologies for the tardiness.” Silent and stoic, Gamble lifts a loose piece of paper off a small stack of others before lowering his glasses on the bridge of his nose, freeing his line of sight to focus fully on the women.

Silent, the man inspects the pair for a moment before jutting his chin toward the pair of empty seats across from him, gesturing for them to join him at the table as he folds his hands atop the papers. Following through on what was signalled for them to partake in, the women step up to the open chairs and lower themselves, sinking into the leathery cushions whilst their arms press against the leather-covered pads that rest atop each armrest.

“I’m very busy, and I have just about ten minutes” Gamble begins, pulling his head back as he lifts his arms into the air, eyes staring at the watch on his wrist before he corrects himself, “-nine minutes.” Recoupling his hands just a short distance in front of himself, the man carries on with his end of the conversation, “make this meeting worthwhile and then leave me to my duties” he instructs, lowering his chin an almost unnoticeable degree, though lining his eyes with theirs, “let’s begin.”

= Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards =

Wearing a towel around his waist whilst rubbing a second one over the damp hair on his head, Max frees the post-shower steam from its confinement as he opens the bathroom door, stepping into the adjacent hallway his roommate’s bedroom sits at the end of. His hair beginning to grow out just slightly whilst the stubble spreading across his face speaks of a man having gone at least a week without a razor, the man’s hand takes toward the hallway closet just beside their washroom.

Reaching out for the green cardboard box sitting near the edge of the first shelf within eyesight, Max’s attention soon sets upon the storage room’s side, taking notice of the confusing sight he sees stuffed into the tiny opening between the cubbies and inner wall. “Hey, Katie?” he asks aloud, calling out to the woman sitting in the room at the corridor’s end, an open door allowing her to find the man calling her name with the faintest upward glance.

“Why is your rifle crammed into the corner of the closet?” Max wonders aloud, uninterested in building up to the question through humour, preferring to address the matter head on. “Because I needed a place to put it” Katie replies, pulling her legs close to her chest to better support the book she has both ends of pulled open, “where else would you want me to put it?”

“Well, somewhere closer to you than the place we keep our towels and shampoo would be a good start, I suppose” Max replies with ease, the shake of his roommate’s head and the shrug of her shoulders implying her lack of issue. “Maybe if the dead had just stayed down and I lived in Baltimore, maybe then I’d prefer to keep a gun on me at all times” Katie responds, keeping her thumb in the page she’d left off reading as the ends of the book close, “we’re in Canada.”

“We’re still surrounded by people. Don’t you think you’d want it on you if we were to get robbed or something?” Max inquires, watching the woman’s head pull back as her eyes squint. “Robbed? We live on the eleventh floor of a high rise apartment and the best item we own is a microwave” Katie rebukes, a smirk worn in the corner of her mouth as she speaks, “I think the burglar having to keep coming up eleven stories for valuable shit we don’t have would have more trouble than my gun.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t want your gun on you in the event someone broke in?” Max questions, pressing his elbow against the closet door’s frame. “Of course I would, but I’m pretty sure a burglar dumb enough to rob this flat isn’t smart enough to worry me too much” Katie retorts, forearms pressing against the tops of each knee, “besides, you’re the man here. Isn’t it supposed to be your job to run off intruders? Isn’t that how chivalry- or something like that- works?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure running off the burglar becomes the job of the woman when- oh, I don’t know- she has the gun” Max responds, watching his friend’s head bow as she laughs, “I may weigh a little more than two-forty, but I can’t throw myself at someone with the speed of a projectile.”

“Alright, I accept defeat. Point taken” Katie confesses, lifting both hands into the air in a half-hearted show of surrender, attempting to reopen her book before overhearing the mechanisms in her rifle jostle from the hallway. “What are you doing?” she asks, watching the man- dressed in only a towel- try to gently free the gun from its nook in their shared hallway closet.

“What? Don’t you want to have the gun somewhere closer?” Max inquires, speaking as if he’s aware there’s a chance he’d misheard the question. “No, keep it there” Katie doubles down, pressing two sides of pages against the thumbs she uses as a bookmark. “Why?” the confused, half-naked roommate wonders aloud, gently relieving his grasp of the firearm and returning it to the corner in which it was tucked into, “I don’t even understand why you’d put it in here and not your own closet.”

“Because I use my closet for clothes. If I need a new pair of clothes, I have to go into the closet” Katie responds, the words she speaks not answering the questions that the ones she doesn’t leave behind. “But you still have to use this closet when you need a towel, or a bottle of shampoo, or whatever these other bottles do” Max rebukes, eyes pressing closer together and face scrunching, clueless as to what sense he’s missing out on as he stares at a litany of lotions and conditioners.

“Yes, but I don’t have to go in that closet as often as I go into my own” Katie retorts, her words again failing to answer the questions that those unspoken leave on her roommates mind. Parting lips to speak, Max immediately falls silent, opting not to argue points he doesn’t understand, and instead takes a moment to make an attempt at deciphering the rationale himself.

“So, your gun is stored in the communal closet because you have less access to it?” he utters, turning to look the woman in the eyes, left to believe he’d- despite it making little sense- come to the correct conclusion. “When you put it in simple terms- yes” Katie responds, eyes drifting to the side as she ponders her reply, inevitably coming back to fall on her friend, “I appreciate your understanding.”

“It’s not so much an understanding as much as it was me doing the math” Max quickly reiterates, folding the towel he’d used to dry his hair off over one arm, standing in the corridor with his arm pressed against his chest to keep it draped, “why does that make sense to you?” Having already begun to reopen her book for the second time, Katie rolls her eyes and stares at the ceiling for a moment, taking less pleasure in the discourse born from the simple question asked minutes ago.

“Well, it may not be Orleans Island, but this is still supposed to be home. As in permanent home” Katie replies, giving up on her attempt at reading as she reopens the pages for a third time, this attempt only serving to place a plastic card between the papers before they close once more.

“If I’m supposed to start trying to settle into this, the last thing I need is to have a rifle on me at all times” Katie concludes, placing her book to her side just as her phone buzzes atop the nearby nightstand, “after all, I’ve pointed it at Astor’s throat enough times for one lifetime.”

“Speaking of which, where is Astor?” Max wonders aloud with haste, the mention of the man’s name sparking an intrigue in his mind as Katie reaches to reclaim her phone, “I haven’t seen him since the day we docked.” Her best option of contact when arriving on Prince Edward Island being a flip phone, the woman opens the device’s lid and reads the message that pops up on her screen, replying to Max’s question as the text loads.

“He’s got a seat on Gamble’s council. He set him up with a place to stay around the city’s outskirts” she answers, watching the words emerge over her screen as her tone takes on an obviously preoccupied presentation, “they’ve got a separate one from Nova Scotia.” Though his roommate’s earlier explanation of the weapon’s hiding place had confused him, Max takes notice of the business she must attend to and quietly bobs his head, carrying a razor with him as he returns to the washroom.

“Great” Katie murmurs aloud to herself, just loud enough for herself to hear now that the bathroom door has been shut once more, eyes rolling as she closes the phone’s lid and sits against the headboard. Shaking her head, the woman’s hand tucks the phone into the pocket of her sweatpants as her opposite reaches to the nightstand she’d taken it from, opening the top-most drawer to retrieve the knife she’d stored within it, eyes setting on the bedroom’s exit she soon takes toward.

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“You never negotiate in good faith” Gamble responds, hands remaining folded as he gently pushes the glasses he wears closer toward his eyes, directing them with the tip of his pinky. “I always negotiate in good faith- people just don’t like my intentions” Charlotte retorts, a half-smirk worn on her face as she leans into the table, hands coupled atop its glossy, hardwood finish, “but there’s always one side of the argument with more leverage than the other. Someone’s bound to be upset.”

“You just so happen to mistakenly think that you’re on the side with the leverage” Gamble rebukes, matching the woman’s demeanour he leans further into the table, hands also folded atop its sleek surface. “Nova Scotia certainly has leverage, and by that- I mean both of our sides” Charlotte retorts, watching the man’s near-unnoticeable and cold grin, “because- whether you like it or not- Prince Edward Island is still a part of the greater New World Order strategy. That’s non-negotiable.”

“It is until I decide otherwise, and you’re running out of wiggle room every single day” Gamble retorts, watching the woman across from him pucker her lips and nod to herself. “What you have over Prince Edward Island- other than land area- is population. For every one meat shield we have, you’ve got- what? Three or four?” he continues, his honesty affording him the pleasure of remaining uninterrupted, “when those numbers even out, your best hope will be in having more weapons.”

“And losing Rockford doesn’t really help you on that front, does it?” a man from off to the side of the P.E.I leader quips aloud, his hands folded as he stands nearest Gamble’s left side. “Basham?” the stoic, glasses-wearing leader speaks aloud, not once moving his face from that of his Nova Scotian adversaries, “were you just attempting to speak on my behalf?”

His silent stare firmly removed from the independence-desiring island’s visitors and set solely upon the back of his superior’s head, the man in the black suit and tie lets his hands uncouple from his lap. “No, sir- I was” Basham retorts, trying to explain himself before falling silent as he’s interrupted, listening to the voice of the man that he speaks to calmly address him.

“I was just about to remind them of their failures with Rockford, Basham. I did not need you to tell them that on my behalf” Gamble calmly reiterates, his eyes remaining locked on the two faces across from him, though his chin is turned to slightest bit in the direction of the armed guard behind him. “I’m sorry sir. I was not aware of that” Basham concedes, more fearful of the man with the calm demeanour just metres ahead of him, knowing there to be an undisplayed rage buried within it.

For a few seconds, not a word is uttered, and the man with his hands folded and eyes kept forward soon redirects his chin as well, turning his attention fully to the women sitting before him. Gently pulling his left hand from his right, Gamble takes the nails on his dominant hand to the skin on his right forearm, gracefully scratching the itch that sits atop his flesh before rejoining his hands on the tabletop, satisfied with the irritating discomfort’s release.

“Basham?” Gamble calmly calls out once more, the tension that had built in the guard’s steadily rising shoulders now joining his neck as the man’s face turns toward his superior with worry. “Yes, sir?” the fear-ridden armed man replies, making sure to alleviate the stutter in his words that he so desperately struggles to hold back.

“Leave” the statue-esque gentleman at the table remarks, his posture unwaveringly still in ways that only heighten the concern that builds within the standing servant. Turning her eyes toward the man who visibly hides the distress he attempts to quell, Charlotte joins the guards standing on duty beside the door in watching the troubled man, uncertain of how to feel internally at the display she witnesses.

Keeping to herself throughout the ordeal, Courtney sits more relaxed in her seat than her superior does, eyes still falling upon Basham regardless, the simple-appearing and yet obviously anxious scene that unfolds proving too great to look away from. Remaining glued upon the two women, Gamble reacts to nothing, not caring to fill the void that is left by the unspoken undertones that the room is now plagued by the disease of.

Looking away from the back of his superior’s head, Basham’s eyes fall upon the two women that stare in his direction, able to see that they at least partially recognise what’s being left unsaid in the moment. Unsure of what to do other than remove himself as per request, the man’s fight or flight response kicks in, his brain following through on its confused and dangerous coping process.

“B- but, sir-” Basham mutters, stammering over the first word whilst remaining composed in his posture and weak in the knees, falling silent by the most easily-missable squeak in his boss’ chair. With ease and grace, Gamble turns his body to the left and calmly steps out of his chair, his glasses remaining centred on his face as his back is shown to his guests, the guards that stand by on duty now looking at the back of the room in quiet horror.

Frozen stiff, Basham remains where he’d begun the ordeal standing as Gamble approaches him, hands swinging only the slightest amount by each side with the calmest demeanour he’d ever worn. The distance between them now separated only by a few centimetres, the island’s unassuming and mostly-unknown leader stands at attention, looking into his subordinate’s face with a visible disgust in his eyes, the rest of his expression unchanged from what it had been.

“GET OUT!” Gamble barks like a rabid dog, breaking his character and watching the muscles in Basham’s neck twitch as the man falls over himself, stumbling backward and colliding with the wall he wastes no time in bouncing off of. Still echoing across the office’s walls, the harrowing yelp his superior voiced leads the dismissed guard to sprint past the negotiating table and run through the door the two remaining guards open for him, allowing him to dash however far his legs can carry him.

Holding his look of contempt at the wall, Gamble’s hands slip into the sides of his jacket to rearrange it, adjusting the way it sits on his shoulders before returning the cold, callous and impersonal expression of decency upon his remorseless and unflatteringly bitter face. His shirt one that had been shed of the tie that now sits folded atop the table, the leader’s fingers politely return the top-most button to the opening it was intended to sit within before rejoining the conversation.

“Apologies for the unprofessional attitude of my subordinates” Gamble remarks, spinning around gracefully whilst his guests watch on, his respectful walk back to the seat preceding his delicate reseating within it. “Do you think it matters to me?” Charlotte inquires, allowed to speak uninterrupted by the man who returns the favour, choosing not to answer the question until the lady has been afforded the chance to reply.

“No, of course not” Gamble answers honestly, quickly jolting his wrists as if to release the tension that had been building within them, “you are a woman of rather straight-forward motivations and subterranean standards.” Her face holding a scowl, Charlotte keeps her lips closed and allows the man before her to read into her squinted eyes and sturdy upper lip and take it for whatever he will.

“You created a rather simple and efficient system of community support when everyone still believed dead people coming back to life was a hoax. It doesn’t take many questions to figure out what you stood to gain from that” Gamble proceeds, his unmoved and content expression fully intact, “the questions should- instead- be how you managed to put a group of delinquents in charge of your second-most important one, aggravate them enough to secede, and then lose to them.”

“That’s not a very fair representation of the situation, now is it?” Charlotte responds, her hands so similarly stoic and unwavering to her foe’s own that the plastic cup of water sitting beside her remains steady, the surface of its contents not moving even the slightest bit. “Quite the contrary. We’re here- not as the New World Order- but as Nova Scotia because you had to settle for a backup plan” Gamble corrects, “-a backup plan you needed because, again- you lost.”

“I think we both know this ‘backup plan’ I had to settle for is a superior system that takes very delicate hands to keep in order” Charlotte quickly rebukes, not taking kindly to her genius being doubted, “and it’s a ‘backup plan’ that was only possible after society fell.” Turning the corners of his mouth rightside-up to mimic a smile, the breakaway island’s leader stares at the table in front off him amidst a pause, pulling his hands apart in order to use his left to remove the eyeglasses.

“Indeed, it takes very delicate hands to keep this system in order” Gamble responds, lifting his chin back up to keep his eyes in line with the Nova Scotian leader, “-and I do not trust that those delicate hands belong to you.” Shaking her head once, chin moving to her right before straightening back out, Charlotte shrugs her shoulders and wears her smirk well, “I don’t see how you have any other choice than to play ball and hope that I prove you wrong.”

Holding steady for a moment, his expression not wavering in the slightest, Gamble stares blankly at the woman across from him with his half-hearted, almost impossibly-inhuman smile intact, yet to react in any way. The seconds that pass almost seem like the time needed for a machine to process instructions it was given, Charlotte watches her political rival deepen his smile and unfold his hands once more, reaching for a paper off the stack of those he’d signed prior to her arrival.

Passing the briefest glance at the sheet, the Nova Scotian leader pays attention only to the boldly printed document on the paper’s front, aware of what the writing is meant to signify. “Grant Prince Edward Island our independence from Nova Scotia, or I will march troops across that bridge and open fire on your residents” Gamble warns, his words instinctively pulling the eyes of his enemy back toward him, the document he’d signed incapable of retaining her sight.

Her eyes narrowed in a way that speaks less of confusion and more of vigour, Charlotte eyes the opposing leader whilst her shadow remains seated confidently, intrigued to see how her superior will match the threat posed. “You’d be sending your island- and all those that support independence- to death” the Nova Scotian leader retorts, a remark that fails to change even the slightest blemish of her nemesis’ visage, “the second we advanced into your territory, you’d cease to exist.”

“You say that as if the outcome of such a war going in your favour was a guarantee” Gamble quips back, not failing in upholding the rigid and unphased demeanour he presents, “as I believe I’ve proven in my remembrance of the old New World Order- that guarantee is no such thing.”

“This is a very different world” Charlotte responds, the poise in her face speaking to the pause she undertakes, chin drifting toward her right as a malicious smile consumes her face, “-and I’m a very different person now.”

“Maybe so. But I don’t believe you have the kind of manpower or firepower required to rid of me as quickly as you think” Gamble rebukes, his voice slightly raspy in tone, though his calm portrayal is strikingly discomforting enough to make up for what it lacks in power. “When you take into account that I control the ports you dock your warships in, and that your only control over us is one bridge-” he continues, the weight in his statements not failing to find his foe, “-you’re a tad limited.”

Before she has the opportunity to reply, Charlotte watches her political disputant uncouple his hands once more and lay one palm at the top of the sheet he’d presented her with. “I’ve played nice for long enough, and I am well and truly in position to back up my warnings. I’m offering you a way to end this without bloodshed” Gamble clarifies, prompting the woman to look back toward the document laid in front of her, “You will lose this island. Whether that’s by choice or by force- is up to you.”

With her hands coupled, Charlotte’s eyes lift back toward her adversary and present a hatred that she’d not shied away from presenting before. Remaining kept to herself, Courtney keeps her eyes glued toward the breakaway-hopeful island’s leader whilst the Nova Scotian head of state turns her eyes toward the paper before her. “None of us are leaving until this decision is made” Gamble doubles down, his words failing to prompt his foe’s eyes to take away from the contract.

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Hearing the welcoming bell just over the door she steps through, Katie enters a coffee shop filled with residents of the town she’s desperately hoping to eventually feel comfortable enough in to settle down. Her hair beginning to grow out beyond what she’s used to, the brown locks flow over her white t-shirt covered shoulders whilst the temperature outside begins to heighten, their countdown to noon falling just under an hour.

“You don’t leave the house very often, do you?” Harvey inquires, seated nearest the window beside the door his acquaintance enters through, a foam cup of coffee held in his hand. “You look at this place like it’s a whole new world” the man proceeds, watching the younger woman spin around with surprise to hear his voice, the tone it takes more than enough to convince her that the words were intended for her ears, “the longer you do that, the tougher it’ll be to assimilate.”

With his back pressing into the closest table to the storefront window, Harvey watches his colleague take a seat opposite him whilst he sips at his beverage, aware of her disinterest for the call he’s made. “Did Gamble tell you why you’re here?” he inquires, watching the woman’s confused expression turn to face him, able to read into it for the answer he’s looking for, “it’s good to know I’m starting from scratch then. It’ll give me a chance to clear all of my bases.”

“I’m going to assume you’re not sending me off on some mission since you told me not to bring my rifle” Katie begins, speaking before who she’s a guest of can have the chance to speak. “What are you on about?” Harvey retorts, pulling his head back out of slight amusement, “I told you not to bring a rifle so the people in this shop wouldn’t duck and cover at the sight of a hermit leaving the cave with a gun in tow.”

“So I am going off on some mission?” Katie contends, watching the man’s face fall into his hands, unable to see the rolling of his eyes concealed behind his palms. “If you’d just shut up for two minutes, we’d get through this a lot faster” Harvey retorts, ceasing his brief exhaustion at the persistent need for clarification, the woman’s dissatisfied look speaking all that’s needed.

“First things first. Everything that I tell you- here and now or at some point in the future- is strictly confidential” Harvey clarifies, watching the displeased expression on the younger woman’s face turn to concern, the secretive approach immediately putting her off. “When you handle business for Gamble, you’re practically attempting to make peace with a ticking time bomb” he proceeds, illustrating his points as best as he can, “play nice and time will just keep getting added.”

“And step out of line equals boom, right?” Katie inquires, the quick nod of approval that she’s responded to allowing the man to move on ahead of schedule. “Sometimes, he’ll be in a good mood and tolerate a question or two. He might be a ticking time bomb, but he’s an understanding one” Harvey explains, speaking of the man as if he’s a fine line in need of sticking to, “as long as the new recruit isn’t incompetent, he’ll tolerate the learning process.”

“Doesn’t that just mean the ‘don’t tread on me’ display he presents isn’t natural?” Katie responds, a question that her contemporary doesn’t immediately take disinterest in out of its intrigue. “Gamble’s a black dude that needs glasses, doesn’t have a heavy voice, and stands just under six feet tall... He knows this” Harvey retorts, breaking the man down in simple terms, “when he gets animated- that’s very bad. There’s a reason he is as calm and composed as he shows himself to be.”

“Then why do people act as if he’s this menacing giant?” Katie questions, the schtick not fully connecting with her, “if they all know it’s an act he uses to look intimidating, why do they fall for it?” Though he understands the question, Harvey’s eyes pull to the distant corner of the shop they occupy, a frown carried in the corner of his face as he places his styrofoam coffee cup on the table, using his free hand to roll the sleeve of his opposite arm up.

“You see this?” the man wonders aloud, showing the front of his forearm to the woman and immediately hearing her pull a deep breath in through her teeth, wincing at the sight she finds. “Do you know what I did to get this?” Harvey questions aloud, allowing her the opportunity to answer with what is to blame for what appears to be a pound of flesh burned beyond the ability to heal worn just below the man’s wrist, “I dropped a cigarette on the carpet of his office.”

The unlikely answer that she’s afforded being the only thing impactful enough to draw her eyes away from the horrific scar, Katie looks at her colleague as he rolls his sleeve back down, buttoning the dress shirt he wears in spite of the horrendously hot day. “Gamble may not be as composed as he appears, and that calm face might be a front to keep people in line, but make no mistake about this-” Harvey confesses, lowering his voice slightly, “-he’s every bit as dangerous as advertised.”

Her mouth agape, Katie struggles to wrap her mind around the conversation being had before, allowing the man to speak amidst her silence for as long as she can bear to hear. “I say this strictly from a professional standpoint- you are very pretty” Harvey explains, trying his best to entice the woman’s mind to refocus on their discussion, “so the best piece of advice I can give is to do everything you can to avoid getting on Gamble’s bad side. If you do- he’s going to change that.”

“I’m so sorry” Katie responds from a place of genuine empathy, incapable of retaining it at the sight of Harvey’s hand waving dismissively through the air. “Forget about me, I’m here right now- trying to teach you the ropes- to keep you in good spirits around here” the man confesses, reclaiming possession of his drink as the cafe continues to bustle with new patrons, “going forward, Gamble and his inner circle have decided that you and I will be partners going forward.”

“Why? What are you worth to them?” Katie quickly inquires, a squint in her eyes taken as the man across from her wears a half-hearted, sarcastic frown. “I’m worth no more than any runner they can replace me with. I, just like you, and just like everyone else, have a shelf life. My use to them expires when I can no longer do the jobs they ask me to do” Harvey explains, trying to speak as clearly as he can, “when we can’t anymore, we just get thrown back out into society like everyone else.”

“Why wouldn’t you want that? Wouldn’t being a regular citizen prevent us from having to walk this fine line with Gamble?” Katie wonders aloud, continuing to speak as the man across from her shakes his head, “I know we’d have to get regular jobs, but wouldn’t that be worth it?” Ceasing his display of vehement refusal, Harvey lifts his drink back to his lips and lets the air quiet again, wanting to let the pause ensue to offer the young woman time to expend her energy speaking.

“Regular people don’t get classified intel. Being just like anyone else- unspecial and unimportant to the administration- isn’t what anyone should want-” Harvey replies, a sudden thought dawning his mind and preventing him from immediately finishing his thought, forcing a pause upon his remark before he finally comes around to concluding it, “-at least, not right now.”

As her head juts forward, the hairs on her body begin to stand, seeing an unnerved visage in the man’s face as he speaks the ominous last few words, the strange reaction uncharacteristic for the man she admittedly doesn’t know very well. “What does that mean?” Katie questions aloud, calling into what the man already knew her curiosities to be driven to, his verbiage not uttered without an understanding of that.

“It means we’re entering a period of time where it’s going to pay off to be in the know of what’s going on around here. Pay off big time” Harvey replies, his hand held toward the younger woman as a gesture for her to remain restrained as he speaks. “The administration is pushing for more authority- self-governing authority- over Nova Scotia as we speak” the man continues, his words latched onto with every syllable, “if he’s not successful, it could put us in very high demand.”

“I’m going to stay quiet and hear you out as long as you answer every question that sits on the back of my mind when it’s all said and done” Katie remarks, pressing her lips shut as a show of good faith. “Fine, anyway- we’ll be busy. And things can get bloody if Gamble doesn’t get his way today. It won’t be immediate, but it will be eventually” Harvey proceeds, carrying on with his thoughts aloud, “now I can’t- and personally don’t want to anyway- tell you the specifics of that.”

Rolling her eyes, Katie shakes her head and remains true to her word, presenting her displeasure in the man’s remarks without uttering a word. “Sorry, I just don’t know what I’m getting myself into with you. You could be the biggest pain in my ass or the most dependable person I’ve ever worked with- I don’t know” Harvey confesses, telling the woman like it is before following through, “but take me at my word when I say you’ll want to know that it’ll get bloody before it actually does.”

Letting her eyes veer off to the side, Katie sits with her thoughts whilst the man she’s seated with takes another sip with his drink, preparing himself to get down to the basics. “Whenever you have questions, save them for me. Don’t go looking for answers from people you don’t know, and definitely don’t raise them with Gamble” Harvey continues, laying out the ground rules for what is to come, “you don’t want to make friends or enemies with him. Just avoid him whenever you can.”

Keeping her eyes placed upon the cafe’s patron, Katie watches her new partner process the lack of a reaction he earns, almost as if he were waiting for a moment to see how she’d respond. “Don’t break rules, don’t commit crimes, don’t give the island- or the people- a bad name. Everyone’s supposed to set a good example, but us especially” Harvey proceeds, “image is just as important as action. It’s why he chose to burn what I could cover up instead of what I couldn’t.”

Quickly pulling in a hefty breath before pressing his lips to the lid of his coffee cup, Harvey downs a few large gulps before letting free an utmost-satisfied sigh of refreshment. “If we’re sent on a task, we either better make sure it gets done, or we don’t come back at all. The only reason for failure in Gamble’s eyes is death” he continues, “if you fail and die, he’ll make sure to view your death as being a sacrifice in the name of the greater good. Death is noble- failure is not.”

Leaning back in his seat, Harvey reaches his hand into the pocket of his dark suit pants, retrieving a set of three keys on a chain before tossing them to the woman’s side of the table. “Like Gamble probably told you already, no one is to know what we do for a living” the man continues, watching the young woman take ownership over the tools set before her, “the keys are to an office across town. You’ll tell people you work financials for Nova Scotia, and that’s the proof.”

Reaching into his opposite pocket, Harvey retrieves a green piece of plastic with lettering scrawled on its front, placing it on the table and covering it with his hand before sliding both toward the table’s other end. “When I pick my hand up, take the card immediately and put it in your pocket. Don’t let anyone see it” he warns, watching the woman ready herself before slipping his hand back, letting her claim it as her own.

“The green part of that card is a rubber cover. It’ll stretch far enough for you to pull off and put back on” Harvey proceeds, watching the woman’s eyes lift to meet his own once more. “In Nova Scotia- and on this island by extension- people have one card. It’s their debit card for whatever funds they store in the central bank” he explains, ensuring his voice remains low, “the card is actually a black card underneath the cover. The black card is a card that essentially acts as infinite funds.”

Clearing his throat, Harvey reclaims the foam cup and prepares to take another sip, finishing his thought before doing so. “The only people that get it are people that work for the Nova Scotian government. Gamble’s already negotiated himself to be able to hand out his own to whomever he pleases” he proceeds, “they’ll get you whatever you want absolutely free. But people can steal it if you’re not careful, so only take that cover off when no one’s watching, and tell no one you have one.”

The rules simple enough to follow as of now, Katie sits back in her seat and presses one foot against the stool built into the table they share, watching her apparent mentor sip from his cup and set it back down. “And one final piece of advice that I can give you- though I can’t tell you why- is to not cross that bridge... ever” Harvey warns, careful not to mince his words, “keep your loved ones and friends from going over. If you’re on the other side when things go south, you won’t want to be.”

Letting a deep breath through her nose, Katie lets the man’s entire rundown settle with her as he finally falls silent, nothing further to add than what he’d already offered. Eyes wildly glancing from one side of the table to the other as she repeats the individual lines of dialogue in her head, the younger woman takes her gaze toward the face of the man serving as her informant, lips parting for the first time since swearing her oath to momentary silence.

“If Gamble is such an ominous figure, why wouldn’t people want to push him out of power?” Katie wonders aloud, taking a glance around the packed coffee shop under no different rule than those across the bridge from them, “wouldn’t fighting a war over independence be something that everyone here would push him out of power over?”

“Oh certainly” Harvey responds, nodding his head as he takes his cup of coffee back into the palm of his hand, an obvious pause separating his initial reply from its conclusion, “it’s just too bad they have no idea he’s in charge of what’s going on here.” Her squint this time one of genuine confusion, Katie tilts her head to one side in an obvious request for clarity, the need to ask what’s meant by such a statement clear in her demeanour alone.

“Nova Scotia doesn’t want the people here that are pissed off with them have some revolutionary to follow, so they’ve given Gamble powers no one else has in exchange for him not telling the public he’s in control” Harvey informs, “the people that want to break off have no clue that Gamble’s already running a massive underground operation for just that. To us, Gamble’s the guy we answer to. To everyone else- he’s just a high ranking member of the island-specific navy.”

“So most of the island doesn’t even know he exists?” Katie quickly questions back, watching the nod she receives answer the question in place of words. “In the event that things don’t ever go his way when negotiations with Nova Scotia come around, he always has the threat of showing the documents he’d signed into law to prove he’s been in charge the whole time” Harvey continues, trying not to leave anything unsaid, “the second he voices his intentions, he’d have the whole island’s support.”

“That’s insane” Katie quickly responds, only to be met with a retort of greater haste. “Of course it is, that’s why Nova Scotia makes it so crucial that he remain anonymous and they take credit for whatever it is that Gamble’s government does” Harvey explains, preparing for another sip of his drink, “and today might be when that all goes to hell. This is the biggest demand Gamble’s ever made of Nova Scotia, and I don’t believe he’s gonna get it for even a second. This might be when it happens.”

“Does this mean that you’ll tell me what you had me bring you?” Katie retorts, watching the confused visage her colleague wears respond to her, “that thing I brought you when we first met on the bridge?” Looking toward the ceiling for a moment as he pulls back in his seat and takes another sip of his coffee, Harvey shakes his head in refusal, voicing clarity on the retort.

“I know it’s something he’s using for additional leverage against Nova Scotia, that’s it” Harvey retorts, one leg crossing over the other, “that’s all I can tell because that’s all I know for sure.”

“Well, what do you think it is?” Katie replies, watching the man look to her out of the side of his eye, the hesitant expression worn on Harvey’s face implying it to be something greatly unfavourable.

|

“I find it hilarious that you think I’m afraid of spilling blood” Charlotte responds, one hand resting to the side of the paper as the other slowly turns the paper over, allowing her eyes to find the next page, “it wouldn’t look good in the public’s eyes, that’s true. But I’d be forgiven for refusing your demands the second I put you on stage with a noose around your neck.”

“I believe I’ve made my opinion on your chances of winning rather clear” Gamble replies, his hands remaining coupled together, his face relaxed and unchanged as if artificially installed, “but I don’t quite understand why you haven’t already accepted this as an inevitability yet.”

“This as in the bloodshed or this idiotic request?” Charlotte wonders, looking into the eyes of the man across from him as his unraised tone of voice utters his response. “Every year we’ve done this has resulted in a greater emancipation of the Charlottetown city state than the last” Gamble responds, a gentle shake of his head pre-empting his conclusion, “the island is in a place where it can sustain itself without Nova Scotian assistance, and I’d prefer that we just got this over with.”

“P.E.I can sustain itself?” Charlotte retorts, inquisitive of the man’s claims and doubtful of their validity, “why exactly do you figure that?” As if programmed to manoeuvre himself to the side amongst the quandary’s conclusion, Gamble swiftly pulls his hands apart and guides his left to a folder resting off to the side, off a few centimetres from the stack of documents he’d been signing.

“We’ve converted sixty percent of the homes on the island to renewable energy, have put sanctions on civilians travelling by car, made investments into the bus system, and have established handshake agreements with small communities outside of Nova Scotia” Gamble explains, setting a folder of papers with this proof before his adversary, “the agreement will allow us safe travel passages to export our goods and take in what we cannot grow at an adequate rate.”

“And yet a little over sixty percent of the population that would back you in a revolution live on Nova Scotian soil” Charlotte replies, the latter half of her retort spoken with a slight preoccupation, “if you’re waging war against my troops, it’s almost half of your people- which my residents outnumber by a ratio of two-to-one- left out in the cold. I guess that’s what happens when you’re so self-sufficient that you raise the rent to unobtainable prices.”

“Drastic measures needed to be taken in the short term in order to certify the long-term viability of Prince Edward Island as its own” the man defends himself, “I do find it humorous to think that you’d view the Quebecois in Nova Scotia as being civilians caught in the crossfire as opposed to what they’d actually be.”

“Oh yeah? What would that be?” Charlotte responds, eyes glued back upon the papers sat before her as she reads further into the page she’d flipped to, only looking up after spending a few seconds reading to absolute silence. With an eyebrow raised, the Nova Scotian autocrat looks to the man intent on breaking free from her rule with a half-smirk, one that begins to lower as gradually and subtly as the guise that her nemesis portrays.

Unfolding his hands as his semi-lively eyes grow cold and his forced smirk drops into a bitter frown, Gamble’s tone of voice finally distances itself from the affable reflection he’d spent the day presenting. Watching from the comfort of both her seat and silence, Courtney lets the man’s descent into a prolonged, intentionally-discomforting stare proceed just as the man’s body begins casually moving inward, his chest beginning to press into the table’s edge.

Letting his lips part with a devious, malicious, and quietly-vicious gaze, Gamble maintains every last ounce of eye contact he can hold with the woman across from him, not looking for her demeanour to change, but wanting himself to be understood beyond reasonable doubt. “They are a cancer” the man replies, his striking peer into the pupils within the enemy’s head not wavering even the smallest amount, “and I have run them into your community to grow that cancer within you.”

Presenting herself as stoic, Charlotte’s puckered lips and unmoving face refuses to play into the man’s hair-raising visage, not allowing the man to find even the tiniest fragment of fear within her. Though she feels it come on, the all-powerful compound leader uses the twitch in her eye to an advantage, using it to prompt a one-eyed squint that she holds at her political rival, playing with the balance of fire and peace as the offer of war looms beyond the horizon.

“What makes you hate me so damn much?” she finally wonders aloud, watching the man’s visibly displeased and unnerving visage remain as he pulls back, hands folding atop the table just as before, though without the approachable- though robotic- demeanour to boot. “You may lead a Quebecois-heavy population from the shadows, but you’re not Quebecois” Charlotte continues, refusing to appear any differently than a genuinely inquisitive leader.

“I’ve never taken my transgressions out on you- or the Quebecois. I simply knew the two sides- us and them- couldn’t co-exist any longer than they already had” she proceeds, granted the room to speak as her adversary awaits his turn to reply with patience and grace, “greater self-autonomy? I can understand why you’d want that. But outright independence? I just can’t see why that’s such a necessity that you’re willing to put your life- and all of theirs- on the line for that.”

“Nova Scotia is- for all of its downsides- a successful integration of what society used to be with changes adapted to reflect the new climate that we live in” Gamble responds, carrying the same tone of voice he’d used apart from the brief, purposefully-striking on he’d taken seconds earlier. 

“However, it is those same downsides that lead me to refuse belief that Nova Scotia- as is- is made to last longer than a handful of years” he continues, speaking with the eloquence he’d talked his way to the pinnacle of the island’s hierarchy behind, “and when the day comes- the inevitable day that I suspect is soon to arise- I will not allow Nova Scotia to take Prince Edward Island down with it.”

“Alright, I’ll continue to play along then. What gives you this impression that Nova Scotia isn’t going to stick around for much longer?” Charlotte quickly retorts, “after all, if I’m doing something wrong that jeopardises the life that this community promises- it’s my job to change that.”

Finally presenting the briefest look at what lies behind the veil of his presentation, Gamble’s eyes fall toward his coupled hands as his smirk widens, genuine humour taken from the woman’s claim. Though he remains vehement in his distant and friendly-appearing guise, the man’s hands pull away once more to remove the glasses from his face, his shoulders hopping almost unnoticeably as his thumb wipes the corner of his eye.

“Mrs. Walters, I must admit that I admire your stubborn refusal to let a burning fire consume everything in the home you build” the man quips, soon returning his eyewear to his face as his initial posture is retaken, “whether it be something as important as a family heirloom or as small as a pieces of garbage, you’re the kind of person that just needs something to save... Just so you don’t look at the fire as having taken everything.”

“You’re right, I am. I’m sorry that you don’t have the ability to take a walk in my shoes, but let me try to explain it in a way that you can understand” Charlotte responds, quick to defend herself whilst her contemporary sits with his thoughts. “What you see as a community on the verge of tearing apart is just that- a place you don’t believe is meant to survive” she proceeds, leaning further into the table to match the man’s earlier display, “but I see it entirely differently.”

“And in what way is that?” Gamble interjects, finally beginning to show the signs of displeasure with how long the unavoidable negotiation is taking. “As something that no one else- not in the whole, wide world- was capable of doing” Charlotte answers, chirping back with the same haste as the man’s interruption had been delivered with, “when everything else was falling- this place stayed standing.”

“And I credit you immensely for what you-” Gamble begins to respond, his calm voice overtaken by the declarative shout that Charlotte cuts him off with. 

“YOU WILL TALK WHEN TOLD TO!”

With parted lips, the island’s visibly irritated leader falls silent, looking the woman he’s prepared to go to war with straight in the eyes, seeing the lock of hair that falls over the face leaning toward one side, her scowl one of intense anger he cannot bring himself to match. Pressing his lips together once more, Gamble’s hands adjust the cuffs on his dress shirt as his upright posture deepens, the man’s patience forced to override his aggravation as he waits for her conclusion.

Long and heavy breaths leaving through her nose, Charlotte’s intense and unbroken stare at the man’s eyes matches the same vigour he knows him to hide beyond the fragile exterior of a welcoming grin and composed coupled hands. Her tongue clicking as her mouth opens once more, the Nova Scotian leader is watched closely by the room’s other inhabitants, her preparation one that can’t be viewed without intrigue.

“The president, your prime minister, the Queen, the CIA, the RCMP, MI6, the Kremlin, the Chinese government, the Pentagon, the whole goddamn world couldn’t keep the ship afloat!” Charlotte screams aloud, gradually working her way back to the dominant, unapologetic pitch it’s taken on, “it happened everywhere. The U.S, Canada, Russia, China, Japan, Mexico, Britain, fucking Guam- it happened everywhere but here. And no one could stop it but me.”

Left hand folding over his left, Gamble lets his eyes fasten themselves to the stare of his legal superior, obvious disdain for the way in which she speaks of him not hidden for a moment. “I give you the credit owed to you for accomplishing what you have over the last three years and some change. It takes real talent to demand a long leash and actually do well with the room you are given” Charlotte proclaims, “but if you go to war with me- I’ll tear you apart eyebrow to nutsack.”

Jutting his chin forward as his tongue curls upon itself and lets its tip sink into the soft inner gum beneath, Gamble continues to wait for his opportunity to speak, able to contain himself, though with less ease than he had before. “I’m really glad you said what you did a few minutes ago- the metaphor about the burning house” Charlotte clarifies, a grin emanating in the right corner of her mouth, “because I didn’t just save a piece of trash... I put the whole motherfucking fire out.”

Though his expression remains composed, the threads that contain it appear to pop in small places, each lace sewn to keep Gamble’s metaphorical mask on being pried from their places as his foe leans in further. “And I’m going to put this fire out too. You’ve already said that these meetings are building up to it, so clearly this demand is just getting it over with” Charlotte proceeds, “which means you’ve still got time to waste, and I have time to work with.”

The slight traces of anger carried over in his visage mostly falling aside in favour of an eye roll that the Nova Scotian autocrat dismisses, paying as little mind to it as she pays to his offer. “So I’m going to take every last minute of that time and save what no one else could even hold onto” Charlotte continues, taking her right hand and pressing its index finger against the table’s top, “I’m not going to be who chooses war or peace. You made the demand, so I’m gonna make you choose.”

“I’ve already given you my decision” Gamble quickly interjects, aware that his opportunity to speak was not provided and caring less for it than his adversary does for his offer of independence. “I don’t give a flippy-dippy fuck about your offer, I give a damn about mine” Charlotte responds, her shoulders rising as her elbows press into the table, eyes not leaving the other man’s as her head pulls downward with vindictive intent.

“You can’t fix what tears this community apart. As much as you may think you’re able to conquer the world, you cannot conquer the will of the people’s call for sovereignty” Gamble retorts, a declaration the woman refuses to adhere to. “Give me one year and I can” Charlotte responds, watching the disheartened shake of her rival’s head accompany his squinting eyes, “humanity endured the end of times. No matter what it is that you think can drive us apart... We’ve always endured worse.”

“People naturally pull apart. If you don’t face them with the same adversity that brought them together, they will never bond once more” Gamble rebukes again, the slow shake in his head continuing to present the woman with his doubts, “you cannot create another end of times to stick them back into one again, Mrs. Walters.”

“And yet... I will” Charlotte argues back, her voice as subdued and calm as that of her combatant, “I sustained society when it collapsed, and I’ll sustain unity before it follows suit. Give me a year, and that is what you’re going to get.”

“Giving you a year- as I stated earlier- will do nothing but prolong the-” Gamble begins to reply, his retort not quick enough to avoid being spoken over. “Then let’s prolong the goddamn inevitable, you impatient fuck!” Charlotte chirps back, her insult this time only earning yet another dissatisfied expression, almost as if he doesn’t take her remarks as seriously as they’re intended to be received, “the only reason to think you’d have anything to lose would be because you know I will.”

“Why should I even begin to consider wasting another year of my time to afford you this pointless opportunity at inevitable failure?” Gamble replies, accepting the woman’s refusal to back down and- instead- choosing to use her proposition as a negotiating tactic. 

“Because I know about your advancement down the St. Lawrence” Charlotte quickly replies, the haste in which her opponent closes his lips making his internal feelings on the subject known resoundingly clear. “We weren’t going to say anything about it, but that was before we knew about what you were going to propose” she continues, the unchanged display on her paramotorist subordinate’s face displaying a show of unity with her Nova Scotian superior.

“That goes entirely against the agreement we made when you were installed as de facto head of state on this island three and a half years ago. I’ve had the authority to nullify that agreement for weeks, but I didn’t use it” Charlotte responds, the silence she’s met with only furthering the tension that builds as the air becomes quiet, left unencumbered by words or sounds, and instead occupied with the particles of air both parties stare at each other through.

“That, and because I have one other card to play” Charlotte replies, placing her palm against the corner of the papers that sit in front of her, taking the documents into her possession and holding them up for the man to see, “give me that year, and if I can’t come through on my word... You’ll have your independence.”

The discontent in his face swiftly changing to an easily-unnoticeable intrigue, displayed through only the mere inch-high lift of his eyebrows, Gamble stares at the papers for a moment before looking back to the Nova Scotian leadership, waiting for her to continue. “You’ll remain anonymously in charge of this island- running acts through me for approval- to avoid the contamination of public perception” Charlotte explains, “we’ll meet again one week after a year from now.”

“Why a full seven days after?” Gamble inquires, too invested in the proposal he’s being made to allow his domineering front to persist. “Because one year from now, our combined governments will hold a mandatory approval poll that we’ll announce three days in advance” Charlotte replies, setting the benchmark for her to clear, “I’ll have to clear two metrics- sixty percent approval from the English voters, and eighty percent approval from the Quebecois voters- or else I’ll sign these forms.”

“Why should I believe you’ll honour your agreement?” Gamble inquires, again receiving his answer without having to wait more than two seconds. “Because I’m willing to look the other way for the best interest of my community since you didn’t honour yours” Charlotte replies, tossing the stack of documents across the table and onto her adversary’s folded hands, “and because the alternative is refusing. In that case, I’ll have your entire community slaughtered by nightfall.”

The squint in his eyes only deepening, Gamble lifts his pupils from the papers he’d watched dance across the obstructions in their path before falling centimetres away from his chest. “You said you were as uninterested in bloodshed as I was. If that’s true, this is the only chance you’re going to get that independence without it” Charlotte concludes, staring daggers through the man’s face as she awaits his reply.

Standing guard by each side of the door, Gamble’s armed security stare at the man’s face with their hands coupled at their laps, their superior’s hands taking to the papers left for him to reclaim before his eyes re-read the bold lettering atop the first page. From the comfort of her seat, Courtney watches Nova Scotia’s adversary pull his head to the side to pop the joints in his neck before pushing his seat out, a nod toward one of the armed men that remain in the room given.

Climbing to his feet, Gamble holds the independence letters in his hands whilst the remainder of his papers are carried in the arms of his subordinates, his feet carrying him around the table before stopping the moment he makes it to his foe’s side of the table. “I will see you again on the first of July, two thousand twenty-three” the man remarks, passing by them as the remaining guard holds the door open, granting the man access to the corridor he enters to leave the discussion behind.

Following their superior, the guards exit the room and close the door behind themselves, leaving the Nova Scotian elite seated alone in the presence of Prince Edward Island’s hospitality. Without a word, Courtney turns her head to face the woman she’s joined for the meeting, watching her eyes stare forward at the wall opposite them, and intense glare provided as if the de facto authoritarian of the breakaway island were still seated in his chair.

“What are you thinking, Charlotte?” the paramotorist wonders aloud, the woman’s gaze never breaking from across the room, her jaw protruding outward as her mouth opens the slightest bit. Pausing as her tongue presses against the back of her two front teeth, Charlotte pulls in a deep breath and thrusts it out through her nostrils, trying to calm herself to a more composed state of mind in spite of the anger-infused tension that fills her body with an unbridled and unrequited spite.

With her stare unmoved, Charlotte fixates on the back wall, the disheartened shake of her head gradually building quicker before finally stopping at the release of a sigh and the voicing of a reply, “that I’ve got another fire to put out.”

== Rise ==