The observation chamber in the Kane Building was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that settles after a storm, or lingers in an empty room at dawn. No, this was the tense, brittle silence of people holding their breath, waiting for something to break.
Alexander stood with his arms crossed, shoulders rigid, eyes locked on the massive holographic display suspended in the center of the room. It showed Luna—small, luminous, impossibly alone—standing on a steel platform in the void between galaxies. Around her, stars swirled like dust in a forgotten attic. The image was crystal-clear, yet utterly detached, as if they were watching a dream through bulletproof glass.
