We were back in the planning room before breakfast. The night crew had turned Yara's wax sticks into real layouts. Screens showed seating blocks, entrance routes, fire lanes, and camera paths. The city map in the corner had turned into a web of green and blue lines—arrival corridors and return lanes—layered over Valdris like lace.
Stella was already in a chair with Luna when I came in, feet tucked under her, braid half undone from thinking. She had three slates in front of her. On one, the lists of names. On the second, a simple spreadsheet with time slots, aisle widths, and little notes like don't put Aunt Mara next to brass band. On the third, a sketch of the kids' corner that included beanbags, a dragon documentary playlist, and a box labeled quiet toys.
"You've been busy," I said.
