Ethan
By noon the next day, the packhouse has reset to daytime business; coffee cart in the foyer, staff moving with clipboards instead of champagne flutes and security feed rolling on a quieter cycle. I stand at the ops table with a tablet in one hand and scroll through last night's incident reports. South ridge; five rogues, contact and retreat. Clinic; three stitches, one sprain, one teenager who fainted at the sight of blood and now claims he "tripped." Drones are on routine and wards on the inner mesh are down on schedule, and the outer holds.
My calendar pings; Luncheon with Alpha James / Luna Janet / Lizzy, Private. The event sits on the shared family calendar, marked by my father with the kind of subject line that announces intent before anyone speaks.
'You can skip it,'
