I am halfway through my opening remarks when Asher steps into the room.
He doesn't run. He doesn't shout. He just walks to the edge of the crowd, his mismatched eyes locked onto mine. He raises his right hand, tapping his temple twice, then pointing to the floor.
The safe geometry.
Through the mate bond, I feel a sudden, sharp spike of cold, geometric static. It is not the echo of the programmable matter in his blood. It is his warning. The molecular decay has reached the critical threshold.
I stop speaking. The room falls silent, the delegates looking at me in confusion.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I say, my physical voice ringing clear and absolute across the silent hall. "The summit is concluded. General Croft, Alpha Chen, please escort your delegations to the western stairwells. Immed
