The wrong question always sounds reasonable.
⸻
It begins before dawn, when the truth has had just enough time to settle into bones but not enough time to be understood.
Jason hasn’t slept. Zane hasn’t moved. The heir lies curled against Zane’s chest, finally quiet, their small body exhausted from bearing more attention than any being should survive.
Outside the sanctum, the world stirs.
Not in panic.
In discussion.
⸻
Jason hears it in the lattice first.
The projections are no longer searching for solutions. They’re searching for permissions.
“We need parameters.”
“There must be thresholds.”
“If the heir stabilizes collapse, then—”
“We need to define acceptable risk.”
Jason’s hands tremble.
“They’re reframing,” he whispers.
Zane doesn’t look up. His arms are locked around th
