Chapter 126. Civic Noon

They ate quickly the way people do when appetite behaves like a clerk—efficient, unromantic, determined to keep the meeting from discovering how fragile bodies are. The bench held the vessel in the shade; the null kept its cool mouth where breath could find it without fuss. The shelf warmed under two cups that refused to match. The post wore NOON: PANEL like a clean bruise.

“Pairs,” Jules said, not as reminder, as posture. Aria’s hand answered hers. The hinge brightened, proud to recognize a habit it preferred to obey.

Hesta tied her robe at the waist as if a garment could be taught to be useful. “He will come with elders,” she said. “They will bring words that sound vaccinated against rooms.”

“Then we give the room a chair,” Cassandra replied. Steel at her hip made a small satisfied sound. “And cutlery.”

Lior mapped a thin thread of shimmer from post to well to bench to shelf to hinge and back—a loop more like a walking tour than a perimeter. Rina ran silver