The room was already awake when Aiden arrived.Not loud. Not tense in the way people expected tension to look. It hummed instead—low, restrained, alert. Screens glowed softly along one wall, each one confirming that recording had begun, that timestamps were active, that nothing said here would disappear into memory or be softened by later interpretation.Aiden paused just inside the doorway.For a brief moment, he took it in.The observers were seated in a wide arc, not elevated, not hidden. Some he recognized from the forum. Others were new—faces that had decided, at some cost, to be present rather than protected by distance. Pens rested unused. Tablets lie flat. No one pretended this was casual.Dante moved beside him, close but not crowding.“They’re already watching,” Dante murmured.“Yes,” Aiden replied. “Good.”Julian sat across the table.He looked composed—impeccably so—but there was something rigid about it now, as though composure had been assembled carefully this morning an
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