Page 117 of Sadistic

The moral weight of it settles over the room.

These men have done terrible things—I've seen the blood on their hands—but using a sick man's delusions crosses a line even for them.

A knock interrupts.

The door opens to reveal Ingrid, looking determined and exhausted.

Her red hair is pulled back severely, no makeup, clothes practical rather than stylish.

This isn't the put-together woman I usually see.

"I need to talk to you," she announces, pushing past Fenrir. "All of you."

Runes sighs. "Ingrid, this isn't the time?—"

"I know where Njal is. I know he's sick. And I know you're planning something." She crosses her arms, chin lifted in defiance. "I want in."

"This doesn't concern you," I say coldly.

Her laugh is sharp. "Doesn't concern me? I spent months being someone's placeholder, listening to him call me by another woman's name. I tried to help him, tried to get him to see a doctor. He chose mania instead." Her voice cracks slightly. "He's got weapons. Maybe explosives. He's been talking about the wedding, about saving Revna from you."

"How do you know this?" Rati demands.

"Because he calls me when he's crashing. Three AM, sobbing about how he's going to save Revna. How he's going to prove his love. How you're the devil and he's the only one who can stop you." She looks directly at me. "He's dangerous, but he's also sick. There's a difference."

"What do you want?" Runes asks quietly.

"To help. Not as bait, not as some honey trap. As someone who actually gives a damn about him getting through this alive." She straightens. "I can redirect him. He trusts me, even manic. I can convince him Bembe's the real threat to Revna."

"You want to weaponize his illness," I state flatly.

"I want to keep everyone breathing," she counters. "Including him. If his mania's focused on protecting Revna from Bembe instead of killing you, maybe we all survive this."

The room goes quiet, everyone processing the moral complexity.

Using a sick man's delusions to solve our problem.

It's cruel and practical and might be our best option.

"He's not thinking clearly," Ingrid continues. "Yesterday, he called me, convinced that the government was using birds to spy on him. Today, he thinks you're literally Satan. His reality is completely fractured, but his feelings for Revna—those are still real. They're just amplified and twisted."

"If we do this," Runes says slowly, "and he survives, he gets help. Real help. Inpatient, medication, therapy. Non-negotiable."

Ingrid nods immediately. "That's all I wanted anyway. I've been trying to get him help for months. Maybe if he survives this, hits rock bottom, he'll finally accept it."

My phone buzzes.

Mum.

"I need to take this," I say, stepping into the hallway.

The corridor is narrow, photos of dead members watching me from the walls.

Young faces, most of them, killed in wars that seem pointless now.

"Doran." Her voice is strained. "The venue called. They need final confirmation for tomorrow. The florist is asking about delivery times. The caterer wants to know about dietary restrictions for table twelve."

"Everything's on schedule," I interrupt.

---