"The question isn't how much they know," Atlas whispered as they prepared for dinner. "It's how much they think we know."
Sarah fastened the last button on the simple black outfit provided for them—practical clothing that marked them as new initiates. "We're supposed to be clueless Americans seeking enlightenment. Let's play that angle hard tonight."
The dining hall of the Summer Institute blended ancient aesthetics with modern functionality—stone floors and wooden pillars housed recessed lighting and climate control systems. Low tables arranged in concentric circles filled the space, with cushions instead of chairs. Atlas noted the arrangement wasn't random; hierarchy was clearly displayed through proximity to the center.
"Ah, our American guests," a voice called as they entered.
Dire
