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When the session finally adjourns, applause spreads unevenly through the chamber.

Not universal.

Better than universal.

Real.

I step down from the platform feeling wrung out at the molecular level.

Immediately, three junior researchers approach with overlapping questions about symbolic inheritance theory. A Coalition ethicist requests future collaboration. An elderly historian grips my forearm with trembling hands and says, “Thank you for not treating us like children.”

I almost cry from relief.

Instead I nod and say something coherent enough to qualify as professionalism.

Eventually the crowd thins.

Sira intercepts two aggressive journalists with the serene efficiency of a woman gently pushing predators into traffic. Brakk loudly announces that anyone attempting to bypass initiative review protocols will be “launched into a star personally,” which the security staff unfortunately interpret as a joke.

Ghar finds me near one of the side arches overlooking the city.

Night has fallen outside the summit complex. Coalition towers glow in layered gold and blue beneath drifting cloud cover, their lights reflecting off canals and glass transit bridges far below. Warm air moves through the open archways carrying rain scent, incense smoke, distant engine hum, and the faint sound of street musicians somewhere beneath the forum district.

I lean against the stone railing.

“I think I survived.”

“You commanded the room.”

I glance sideways at him. “That sounds suspiciously proud.”

“I am proud.”

The bluntness of it warms me straight through.

“You watched the whole thing?”

“Yes.”

“Even the part where that historian accused me of controlled intellectual authoritarianism?”

“You answered him well.”

“I told him history departments already behave like authoritarian regimes.”

“You were not incorrect.”

I laugh softly and close my eyes for a second.

When I open them again, Ghar is still watching me with that calm, impossible steadiness he has developed lately. Not worship. Not destiny-drunk devotion. Choice. Daily, conscious choice.

I move closer until my shoulder rests against his chest.

“You know what’s weird?” I ask quietly.

“Many things.”

“Helpful.”