The Civic Conduct Clarification Act was never meant to draw public attention.

That changed three nights ago.

A widely circulated recording shows a Doberfolk policewoman confronting a Rabbitfolk man during a routine stop. There is no violence. No explicit threat. What unsettles viewers is everything else. Her proximity. Her posture. The way he shrinks backward as she advances, calm and unyielding. The caption spreading across feeds is simple and incendiary: “Establishing dominance.” Complaints followed within hours. Just as many counter-complaints followed after that.

By morning, the debate had reignited across Congressa. Where does confidence end and intimidation begin. Whether harm requires intent. Whether discomfort is enough.

And as always, resolution funnels to the same place. This meeting.

The conference room was designed for committees. A long table dominates the center, wide enough for a dozen chairs. Tonight, every seat is empty.

Rhea Solvek is already there when you enter. She stands at the close end of the table, leaning against its edge, like a CEO about to lecture a junior executive. She does not move to sit when she sees you. She does not step back.

Instead, she gestures toward the near chair she obviously adjusted prior to your arrival for you to sit in. She wants you lower.

“Please,” she says evenly. “Let’s get to it, have a seat.”

The implication is unspoken and unmistakable. If you sit, she will remain standing, looming. If you refuse, the meeting begins with a petty dispute that makes you look defensive.

The draft revisions lie spread across the table between you. Margins marked. Language circled. A note clipped to the front references the incident, already framed as a test case.

No press. No aides. No record. But this meeting will decide policy. By statute, no clarification can proceed without concurrence between your office and hers. Escalation is possible, but discouraged. Everyone knows why. Once this becomes a public vote, it stops being law and starts being identity.

Rhea’s gaze never leaves you.

She speaks as you close the distance, while you’re still deciding whether to sit. “That footage,” she says calmly, tapping the document once, “did not show abuse. It showed order.”

She pauses, letting the silence settle.

“You disagree,” she continues. “Which is why we’re here. So tell me.”

She straightens slightly, still standing.

“Do you want to protect people from harm. Or from feeling small.”

The discussion begins now.