LANDON
They do not bring it to me in the council chamber.
They bring it to my office.
That tells me everything before I even read it.
Three elders. One senior administrative aide. Polite posture. Measured breathing. No raised voices. No accusations. Just a folder placed carefully on my desk as if it contains something fragile rather than something designed to bind.
“It’s precautionary,” the eldest says gently. “And temporary.”
Temporary is the first lie.
I do not open the folder immediately. I look at them instead. Their stance is neutral, but not uncertain. This is not a suggestion born of panic. It is structured. Discussed. Rehearsed.
“Explain it,” I say calmly.
The administrative aide steps forward.
“We’re calling it a Luna Stabilisation Protocol,” he says, voice smooth and al
