As I pass the defendant partition, I do not mean to look.
I look anyway.
Rhyx is standing now. The guards have shifted position around him, less accusatory than before but not exactly respectful. Pellorin is speaking to a tribunal clerk, all legal poise and sharpened patience.
Rhyx’s gaze catches mine.
And just for one second, the entire chamber—lights, voices, feeds, politics, all of it—falls away.
He knows.
Maybe he saw Veridan approach. Maybe he read my face. Maybe word already reached the custody side that I just lit my tribunal career on fire and walked out of the smoke smiling with all the wrong muscles.
Whatever it is, his expression changes in the smallest possible way.
Not surprise.
Not pity.
Recognition, again. But deeper this time. Fiercer.
You chose.
Yes.
So did you.
A guard moves between us and the moment breaks.
I keep walking.
The side corridor outside the chamber is cooler, dimmer, lined in matte gray composite that eats echo instead of throwing it back. After the violence of the broadcast lights, the hallway feels almost underwater. My ears ring. My fingertips are numb.The overhead strips reflect in the polished floor in long soft bars, and for a second I have to stop because my knees threaten to fold and I would really prefer not to collapse in front of tribunal staff during my dramatic exit.
A young clerk hurries past me carrying three sealed packets, glances at my face, then at my badge, then slows.
“Are you okay?” she asks, before caution catches up with her.
The question is so earnest it almost ruins me.
I let out a breath that shakes a little. “No.”
She blinks, startled by the honesty.
Then I add, “But I’m leaving, so that feels promising.”
Something in her expression softens. “Good,” she says quietly, like she understands more than she should.
I unclip my tribunal badge.
The lanyard catches for half a second against my collar, then comes free. The metal is warm from my skin. My name gleams under the corridor light in severe little letters that feel suddenly like somebody else’s problem.
Selene Ardent. Tribunal Authority.
Not anymore.
I hand it to the clerk.
Her eyes widen. “I?—”
