When the board reconvenes, the air in the room no longer feels like anticipation alone—it feels like consequence waiting to settle into form.
The earlier recess has not diluted the tension; it has refined it. Conversations that drifted toward the harbor windows now return with sharper edges. Water glasses rest untouched. Laptops reopen with quiet clicks. Every movement feels measured, as if the room itself understands that what is about to be spoken will redraw more than just a contract.
I sit with my hands folded lightly over my notes, posture relaxed, and pulse steady. Across the table, Selene mirrors composure with immaculate precision, her expression arranged in polite neutrality. Lucien sits beside her, silver at his temples catching the afternoon light, gaze unreadable, as if he has already calculated every possible variation of what may unfold.
