Solomon's chamber looked like the Spire remembered it was a lighthouse before it was a palace.
Curved glass framed the whole city in a slow arc - petals half-open, avenues like silver threads, banners drooping with the weight of an afternoon breeze. Luminite veins ran under the floor in neat capillaries, glowing the soft color of a quiet promise. The desk was too big for a kid and exactly the right size for a ruler. Behind it, the great seal of Neoshima sat like a coin pressed into the room.
Everyone was there.
Divisions Three and Four in a loose wedge. Kori with her clipboard like a weapon she'd beaten into paper. Alteea in a lab coat that thought it was couture. Obi leaning on a column he had no right to lean on. Saffi pretending not to be proud from the second row and failing, Esen vibrating at a frequency normally reserved for kettles.
