ALCYDE
The council chamber reeks of old tobacco and older resentments, six elders arranged like judges at an inquisition. Roland sits at center, weathered face carved with disapproval deep as canyon lines. To his left, Elder Vernon drums thick fingers against mahogany that's absorbed decades of similar meetings. Elder Gerald watches through eyes milky with cataracts but sharp with malice. Elder Leonard spits tobacco juice into a brass spittoon that rings like a bell of judgment. Elder Douglas adjusts wire-rimmed spectacles while shuffling papers covered in cramped notes. Only Patricia sits apart, her expression unreadable as she watches her male colleagues prepare their attack.
Sophia stands before them, chin raised despite exhaustion that makes her sway slightly. Through our bond, I fee
