“I’m exhausted in ways you deserve,” I say.
Rhyx, from the counter, says mildly, “She has been this charming all evening.”
Nera glances at him and visibly reorients, like she just remembered the acquitted former fleet commander in civilian clothes is not decorative.
“Commander—”
“No,” he says.
The word is gentle and final.
A flush rises in her cheeks. “Right. Sorry.”
He inclines his head once and says nothing more.
Good. Let them sweat a little.
Nera turns back to me, regrouping. “You are correct. Your name carries risk. It also carries precedent. The hearing established a public record for archive-chain integrity, casualty traceability, and independent override review. We’re building statutes around that.”
Pavel slides one of the physical folders toward me. “Archive protection reform.”
Talis adds another. “Mandatory casualty disclosure thresholds.”
Nera places a third on top. “Emergency civilian access triggers.”
I stare at the folders.
Then I look up. “You people hear the phrase ‘several months pregnant into political blacklisting’ and think,yes, let’s bring her homework?”
Nera blinks. “Pregnant?—”
Rhyx straightens from the counter.
Ah. Right.
I close my eyes for half a second. “Wrong word. Sleep deprivation. Ignore me.”
The silence that follows is so abrupt it’s almost art.
Then Pavel says carefully, “Would you prefer we return another time?”
I open my eyes. “No. You’re here. Let’s suffer efficiently.”
That breaks the tension just enough.
We get to work.
For the next hour—so much for twenty minutes—the apartment fills with statute language, arguments, and the dry papery whisper of folders opening and being pushed back across the table. Rain drifts from tapping to rattling against the glass.The building’s climate system kicks in with a soft vented rush, brushing cool air across my ankles. My tea goes from cold to irrelevant.
Nera brings up the first draft on archive protection.
“We want sealed wartime archives subject to automatic independent redundancy mirror creation,” she says, projecting language into the air above the table. “No single-command-chain custody. No unilateral suppression authority.”
“Good,” I say. “But this clause is weak.”
She squints. “Which one?”
I tap the paragraph. “This exemption. ‘Exceptional conflict conditions.’ That’s where they’ll hide the knife.”
