Chapter 111. The Cost of Clean

The null’s new melody threaded the edges of the dome like a tune a careful mason might hum—low, spare, patient enough to make pressure admit it was only air with good posture. The spheres hanging between Aria’s hands hummed back, eager and tidy, their obedience looking so much like virtue that a lesser room would have applauded.

Alicia stood close enough that Aria could see where sleeplessness had stitched thin seams at the corners of her eyes. Her palm remained warm over Aria’s sternum, polite pressure arranged in a circle the size of a silver coin. “Allow me to finish this,” she said softly, as if the night were a ledger begging to be balanced by neatness.

“You do not finish people,” Jules said, her hand still on Alicia’s, witness wedged between skin and rule. “You answer them.”

The dome tried to discard that, remembered benches, and failed. Outside, the behemoth lowered its head for another run; the hinge leaned sideways with the patient pride of a tool that has