SOPHIA
The education committee files into the meeting room like they’re attending their own funeral—slow, reluctant, already grieving whatever changes I’m about to propose. Patricia leads them, the only elder who survived the purge, her gray hair pulled into a bun tight enough to give me a headache just looking at it. Harold follows, clutching folders thick as my thigh, and Sandra from the medical building looks like she’d rather be pulling teeth than sitting through another Luna’s reform meeting.
I smooth my hands over the simple dress Lou picked out for me—nothing fancy, just clean and pressed, but it makes me feel like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life. The conference room still smells like old cigars and older prejudices, leather chairs worn smooth by generations of men mak
