After the profound, reality-bending vulnerability of Lucy's memory projection, the atmosphere inside the vast, cathedral-like venue shifted.
It was no longer the heavy, reverent silence of people trying to process the impossible. Instead, it settled into the warm, radiant intimacy of a family living room.
The liquid light that had served as the canvas for Lucy's mind had fully receded, and the ambient music swelled back in, carrying a soft, rhythmic momentum that invited movement, conversation, and celebration.
It was a room specifically curated for this exact feeling. If the world outside knew the address of this shimmer-portal venue, they would have assumed it was packed with the global elite. But aside from Whitlock, who was currently nursing a glass of scotch while chatting quietly with Robert, there were no billionaires here.
And now, as the night entered its final, most personal phase, it was time for the gifts.
