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Chapter 17 — "The Weight of Empty Hands"
Morning came with the steady percussion of rain against glass. It had the sort of rhythm Lucas liked to imagine in sound design: not heavy enough to be oppressive, but insistent, as if the weather was reminding you of its presence.
He sat at the kitchen counter, chin propped in one hand, watching Oliver burn a slice of toast in a way that suggested the bread had personally wronged him.
"You ever think about how many different people think they know you?" Oliver asked through a mouthful of unbuttered crumb.
Lucas laughed softly. "Only when I'm avoiding more important thoughts."
"Like your chair." Oliver gestured with his toast toward the living room, where the new piece of furniture sat like an extra guest at the breakfast table. "People will assign all kinds of meaning to that thing. Trust me, chairs are like… symbolic dynamite."
Lucas shook his head. "It's just a chair. For auditions. My back's been killing me from using that old stool."
"Yeah, sure. Tell that to the people who run entire conspiracy boards about the shape of your coffee mug in interviews." Oliver poured himself coffee and left the mug on the counter, not bothering to wipe the spill.
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1. The Analyst Who Counted Doors
Across the city, Tessa Quinn closed a file on the chair's acquisition and opened a different one: LC-001 – Secondary Traces.
If the SIB was a hive, she was one of the bees that made the same flight over and over — never glamorous, but necessary. She was looking not for the obvious, but for patterns that repeated at the edges.
The first: Lucas had taken delivery of the chair through Stellar Arts Logistics. The second: that same courier had been hired twice in the last year by clients tied to Alexander Cain's former business holdings.
She tapped the screen with a pencil, a habit she never shook from paper days. "He doesn't have to know," she murmured to herself. "The perception alone is operational."
Operational in SIB terms meant it will have consequences whether or not the subject acts.
Chief Rena Vale's voice drifted over from her office. "Quinn. Doors."
Tessa got up, file in hand. "Ma'am?"
"Count them," Rena said simply.
It was an old intelligence metaphor: count the doors someone could walk through, and you'll know the odds of them leaving the room you think they're in. Tessa nodded, already listing Lucas's 'doors' in her head — the acting circles, the friends, the prop company contacts, the online auction boards, and the unknown network that kept showing up like a watermark in every trace.
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2. A Cup of Tea with Elric Vance
Meanwhile, Elric Vance was holding court — if you could call two people and a chipped porcelain teapot a court. The table was in a narrow upstairs room of a bookshop, the air rich with the scent of old paper and damp coats.
Across from him sat Lilith Valemire, hair neatly tied back, expression unreadable.
"He doesn't know," Elric said for the fourth time. "Which is the beauty of it."
Lilith poured tea without looking at him. "It's also the danger of it."
"He carries the image without the baggage. To him, the throne is just a chair."
"And to others, it's a signal," Lilith said, setting the teapot down. "Symbols create movements. Movements create consequences. My job is to keep consequences off his doorstep."
Elric smiled faintly. "And my job is to keep the door open should he decide to walk through it."
They drank in silence for a while, each turning the same thought from different angles: What happens when a man becomes the center of a story he isn't telling?
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3. Municipal Maneuvers
Rafi Arman didn't usually attend afternoon briefings — engineers had more use for valves than meetings — but this one was different. The memo in his inbox had been marked priority-red, and the subject line read: LC-001 / Water System Safeguard.
When he entered the conference room, two city managers were already mid-discussion about 'symbol-triggered unrest'.
"We've had anonymous chatter about 'turning the taps' in solidarity with the Chair," one said.
Rafi took a seat. "You're telling me people think shutting off water is a show of loyalty?"
"It's symbolic," the manager said, as though that explained everything.
Rafi rubbed his forehead. "Symbolic disruptions are still disruptions. If even a small crew tries to sabotage a main line, the repairs will be costly."
His proposal was simple: double the inspection routes for key infrastructure, lock down remote-access controls, and quietly alert site supervisors to watch for unfamiliar faces.
The plan was approved in ten minutes. Symbolism was for other departments; here, it was about keeping the water running.
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4. The Unexpected Visit
By evening, Lucas had mostly forgotten the morning's banter about symbolism. He was scrolling through casting calls, the chair angled toward the window for the best light, when a knock came at the door.
It wasn't the polite, three-tap rhythm of a neighbor or the perfunctory buzz of a delivery. This knock was deliberate.
Sebastian opened the door. A man in a dark raincoat stood there, holding nothing but an umbrella.
"Good evening," the man said. His voice was formal, almost rehearsed. "I'm here on behalf of a client who wishes to commend you on your… recent acquisition."
Lucas, curious despite himself, stepped forward. "Commend me? For buying a chair?"
The man's mouth curved into a small smile. "In our circles, it is not just a chair."
Lucas chuckled awkwardly. "In my circle, it really is."
The man inclined his head, as if accepting a polite lie. "Nevertheless, my client wishes you well. If you should ever require… assistance, we are at your disposal."
Before Lucas could ask who the client was, the man handed Sebastian a business card with nothing but a number and left, his umbrella vanishing into the rain.
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5. Ripples
That night, Lucas put the card on the kitchen counter. Oliver picked it up. "You're collecting some weird fans, bro."
"I didn't even do anything," Lucas said.
"That's the scary part," Oliver replied.
Neither noticed Sebastian tucking the card into a drawer later, his expression unreadable.
Across the city, the SIB tagged the encounter as an unscheduled contact. Lilith heard about it before midnight and sent a polite but firm email to the SIB's liaison reminding them that her client was not under investigation.
Elric, upon hearing the story secondhand, simply smiled. "They've started making offers. The story's alive now."
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Lucas went to bed with the sound of rain still against the glass, unaware that in half a dozen rooms, people were arguing about what his next move would be — and none of them thought to ask him what he wanted.
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End of Chapter 17.