January arrived across the Hudson with an unexpected mid-winter thaw that loosened the heavy ice along the banks of Stony Point. By dawn, the sharp metallic chill in the air had softened into a wet, heavy mist that rose off the river in thick white blankets, creeping up the granite bluffs to envelop the lower pine terraces of the estate. Rain, fine and steady as needlework, pattered against the triple-paned quartz skylights of the main observatory suite.
Inside the quiet sanctuary of the upper workshop, the change in temperature had registered on the environmental sensors, triggering a gentle adjustment in the floor conduits. The room smelled of wet stone from the open balcony doors, mingled with the dry, resinous scent of unlacquered cedar and black ink.
I stood at the long drafting tab
