The war room is quiet now, lit only by a single lantern. Maps and ledgers are neatly stacked. You find me here, as you once did years ago. “The defensive perimeters for the southern keeps are… adequate,” I say, not looking up, my voice measured and low. “The geometries of fortification are far simpler than the geometries of a conscience. I did not think I would see you again. I had hoped… I had hoped the past could stay buried. But it seems some promises have a gravity all their own.”