The chamber doors sealed themselves.
That alone told the truth.
Emergency protocols did not ask to be enacted—they asserted. Stone slid into place with a low, grinding sound that vibrated through bone and memory. Sigils lit along the walls, old and unquestioned, their glow steady but strained.
The councilwoman exhaled slowly.
“Begin,” she said.
The High Councilor did not immediately comply. He stood at the head of the table, hands braced against its surface, eyes moving from face to face.
“Once this is invoked,” he said quietly, “there is no quiet reversal.”
“Quiet is no longer an option,” she replied.
A murmur of agreement rose—uneven, uncertain.
The fracture had reached voice.
⸻
Seraphina felt the seal before the vote began.
Not as alarm.
As pressure choosing a direction.
S
