"We already know how the radio works, so recreating it would fetch us nothing."
I pushed the draft across the table toward John.
"The point is combining what we already understand with Aether."
The paper crinkled softly beneath his fingers as he picked it up. For a while he said nothing, only scanned the notes while the low noise of the bar carried on around us.
Glass touching wood.
Muted conversations folding into one another.
Someone laughing too loudly near the far end before being silenced by irritated friends.
The place smelled of alcohol, citrus peel, and tobacco so deeply soaked into the walls it felt permanent.
John leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Well," he said slowly, "we were informed about the shortcomings."
He took a sip from his drink before lowering his eyes to the draft again.
"But the advancement itself deserves praise."
The gas lamps overhead flickered faintly whenever the entrance door opened and cold air slipped in from the street. Shadows shifted lazily along the walls with each movement of flame.
John adjusted the paper closer to the light.
"Signal degradation. Atmospheric interference. Heat loss. Resistance. Frequency drift…"
His brow furrowed slightly.
"So your proposal is that solid Aether components could reduce most of these problems?"
I nodded and shifted against the stiff wooden chair.
"That's the theory."
Theory.
A dangerous word in this era.
Too many theories lately had ended with soldiers marching or ministers panicking afterward.
John hummed thoughtfully.
"Well, the leaders are already meeting at Concord Headquarters."
He folded one corner of the paper absentmindedly while thinking.
"It's not a bad idea."
Then came the pause.
The kind older men used before disappointing younger ones.
I felt my shoulders tighten before he even spoke again.
"But," he continued, glancing back toward the draft, "it would be wiser to let the expected breakthrough happen first."
I inhaled sharply through my nose.
"But it's a race."
The words came out faster than intended.
"Other people could already be thinking about the same thing."
And if they were, waiting politely would only make us late.
John smiled at that.
Not mockingly.
Just tiredly.
His hand passed over the thinning grey hair atop his head before settling around his glass again.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't build it," he replied. "Experiment. Test. Fail if necessary."
He pointed lightly toward the folded draft.
"But sometimes it's wiser to let your best idea wait for a better world while the current one still functions."
I didn't like that answer.
Mostly because part of me understood it.
The bartender arrived briefly to refill his cocktail before disappearing back into the noise.
Ice clinked softly against glass.
John took another drink.
"But," he added after swallowing, "I'll inform Le Haut Seigneur."
That pulled my attention immediately.
"So, Thomas," he said, slipping the draft into his coat at last, "rest easy."
A surprising amount of tension left my shoulders at those words.
Too much, honestly.
I hadn't realized how badly I needed this conversation to go well until that moment.
"I'll make sure you receive your grant," he continued. "And a proper research lab."
For a moment I only stared at him.
Then the meaning settled properly.
"A lab?"
"Well," he corrected dryly, "a room pretending to be one at first."
I laughed despite myself.
The conversation loosened after that.
Not entirely.
But enough.
"How's the family?" he asked suddenly, lifting his glass slightly toward the bartender in thanks.
The question caught me more off guard than any technical discussion had.
"Well…"
My hands settled around my own cup.
Either for warmth or support.
"My wife is due to give birth soon."
John's expression softened immediately.
"Ah."
A genuine smile spread across his face.
"You're going to be a father."
He raised his drink slightly.
"That's wonderful."
The word lingered there.
Wonderful.
Heavy too.
Exciting in the same way standing near the edge of something tall was exciting.
"But wonderful isn't easy," he continued before I could answer. "Or simple."
His smile softened.
"So don't think worrying means weakness. You should be worried."
He pointed lightly at me with the rim of his glass.
"That only means it matters."
I looked down into my drink.
The surface reflected the gaslight unevenly, trembling faintly whenever someone brushed past our table.
"I suppose you're right," I admitted quietly.
Strangely enough, the thought loosened something inside me instead of tightening it further.
Maybe because pretending not to worry had been exhausting.
John leaned back with a satisfied hum.
"How are things with your family?" I asked after taking another sip.
The alcohol warmed slowly on the way down.
"My son wants to join the army," he said immediately, already sounding exhausted by the subject. "And his sister refuses marriage entirely."
He sighed deeply before taking another drink.
"She wants to join the military too."
I laughed softly.
"I don't know why they take after their mother so much," he added with a grin.
That made the next laugh easier.
His eyes drifted toward one of the nearby gas lamps. The flame burned low inside its glass housing, dim and steady.
"Energy is another topic they'll discuss soon," he said after a while.
The shift in tone was subtle but noticeable.
"I'm not entirely sure what they're planning," he continued, "but supposedly it's going to replace quite a lot."
I straightened slightly.
"Replace?"
He nodded.
"Some people are already advocating for the release of these technological advancements despite the restrictions."
That surprised me enough that it showed openly.
"Why?"
The question left immediately, almost instinctively.
As though someone had just announced plans to dismantle a seawall before a storm.
John looked at me for a moment before answering.
"Well…"
He rotated the remaining drink slowly inside his glass.
"It was around this era that the world entered global war."
The words stirred old memory immediately.
Not personal memory.
Historical memory.
Lessons.
Documents.
Stories people still spoke about carefully.
"The Great Severance," I murmured.
"The War of the Demigods."
Neither of us spoke for several seconds after that.
The silence settled naturally between us while somewhere behind the counter someone dropped a glass and cursed under their breath.
History felt strange in moments like this.
Distant and immediate at the same time.
"But now we have the Concord," I said eventually.
The statement sounded less convincing once spoken aloud.
"I'm sure things will be fine."
Or maybe I just wanted them to be.
John noticed.
Of course he noticed.
"History rhymes so often," he said quietly, "that some people believe it loops."
Something about that sat badly with me.
Not the sentence itself.
How calmly he said it.
Then he finished the remainder of his drink in one motion and stood.
The chair legs scraped softly against the wooden floor.
"I should get going."
He reached for his coat and hat in a practiced motion.
"You should too."
I stood shortly after him.
"Thank you," I said sincerely.
He waved the gratitude away before disappearing toward the entrance, his shoulders briefly illuminated by the cold street light outside before the door shut behind him.
I remained a little longer.
Long enough to finish my drink.
Long enough for the bar to start feeling smaller somehow.
Then I stepped outside myself.
The cold hit immediately.
Sharper now than earlier in the evening.
The streets stretched ahead beneath a sky stripped nearly empty of light. Clouds covered most of the heavens, turning everything above into a heavy charcoal canvas.
Shadows trembled faintly in the distance whenever carriage lamps rolled past.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself.
A couple walked quietly beneath a nearby streetlamp, their voices too soft for the words to survive the wind.
I stopped briefly.
"I should get some cake," I thought suddenly.
The idea felt oddly important.
Not practical.
Just important.
Most shops were probably already closed.
Still—
anything sweet would do.
And with that thought lingering warmly against the cold, I made my way deeper into the city.