The briefing chamber wasn't built for comfort.
It was built for containment.
Oval in shape, polished steel floor, zero reflective surfaces, and ten high-backed chairs spaced far enough apart to discourage camaraderie. The air was cool, dry, filtered to exact psychic neutrality. In the center stood the projection dome—a hollow globe suspended midair, shimmering with a neutral glow. It had shown warzones, intercepted transmissions, classified test failures.
Today, it showed me.
Not physically. A 3D resonance model: two overlapping fields—one clearly mine, the other subtly offset, darker, richer, flickering with alien intensity.
My mother was already standing when the image stabilized.
Elder Regina Summers wore the Network crest on her chest like armor. Her dark hair was coiled tightly, her gaze sharper than steel. "This is conjecture," she said, voice cold. "Psychic overlap isn't proof of instability."
