The medical board met in a conference suite that looked like it belonged to a defense contractor - glass walls that could turn opaque at a touch, soundproofing built into the panels, a long table with embedded screens, and enough security outside the door to make it clear that in Saha, medical privacy was treated like classified intelligence.
Chris hated the vibe immediately.
He sat in a chair that had clearly been chosen to be "comfortable," but only made Chris more suspicious. Nero was strapped to his chest in a modern carrier - dark fabric, reinforced seams, and a small embroidered seal that screamed royal-approved and overpaid. Nero slept like he owned the world, cheek pressed into Chris's shirt, one tiny hand curled like a question mark.
Dax sat beside him, close enough that their knees touched under the table, and anyone watching would understand that this wasn't the state evaluating its consort.
