Xionne didn't slow down.
If anything, he got sharper.
Like now that the room had gone quiet, he finally had space to do what he actually wanted, strip everything down to something that couldn't be argued with.
"You speak," he continued, voice steady, "as though presence can be substituted."
A small tilt of his head.
"It cannot."
He shifted just slightly, enough to anchor his next words in something solid instead of abstract.
"Since we are discussing contribution," he said, "let us be exact."
There it was again.
No fluff.
No polite phrasing.
Just facts lining up like blades.
"Among Zethara's representatives," he went on, "two stood on Floor 39."
The room stilled.
"Keiji."
A quiet nod in his direction.
"And Eunji."
My name hit the air like it had weight.
I kept still, even as I felt the shift. Eyes. Attention. The subtle recalculation happening across the room.
Xionne didn't even look at me.
Didn't need to.
