The butterfly pin on her lapel, chosen and deliberate and hers.
The folded sheet in her inner pocket with its honest lines and the margin note that said 'I want this to be enough of a foundation that it holds even when I don't know what I'm building yet.'
It was holding.
"Yes," she said.
She was.
The working list updated itself in her mind.
Item twenty-two, succession framework: 'in progress, input arranged.'
Item thirty-eight, return: 'nearly complete.'
Item thirty-nine: 'beginning.'
She walked through the capital city that was in the process of deciding what came next, and she was already building what came after that, and the list was never going to get shorter, and that was exactly as it should be.
The system settled on her shoulder.
Satisfied.
So was she.
.
.
.
The next morning came with rain.
