Something shifted beneath Thessian's composure—not visible, but present. Because that was not secrecy as a precaution. That was the systematic removal of every possible thread that could be followed later. No faces. No names. No identifiable leaders. Nothing that survived the death of any single participant. A machine built to outlast every person operating it.
Twenty-Seven's gaze moved suddenly toward the door, her body tensing as though some part of her still expected it to open at any moment. "They watched dreams." Her voice dropped. "They recorded them. They would ask questions while we slept—" a shudder moved through her, visible from her shoulders to her hands, "—and if the answers weren't correct—"
She stopped. No explanation followed, and none was needed.
Several corridors away, inside Liora's chamber, the physicians had resumed their quiet watch.
