Caelan POV:
The council’s reply arrives just after midday, neither rushed nor delayed, timed with the kind of precision meant to signal composure rather than urgency.
The secure channel lights once on my desk tablet, steady rather than flashing, the soft glow of it already telling me this was discussed at length before it was ever sent, weighed, reworded, approved by hands that mistake deliberation for restraint.
I open it and read through the message without reacting, my expression still, my breathing even, letting the shape of it settle before the meaning, because with the council it’s never just what is said, but what they’re careful not to name.
Then I read it again, slower this time.
Kieran stands across from me, arms folded, attention fixed on my face rather than the screen, wat
