Ethan
Alpha James approaches with two plates and the posture of someone who would prefer to talk about crop yields. "The food's better than last year," he says.
"It is," I say. "New vendor for the potatoes."
"Continuity through carbs," he says, and I surprise myself by almost smiling.
Mother materializes at my right. "Walk me to the pie tent," she says. It's a cue and a shield. We do both.
On the way we pass a knot of councilors. One nods at Lizzy, at me, at the platform. "Good optics," he says, which is the only compliment he knows how to give.
"Good conduct," I correct. "That's the standard." He blinks like he heard a word that doesn't fit in his mouth and moves on. Mother doesn't comment, she doesn't need to.
At 5.40pm, Ops pings: South ridge motion, false; deer.
