“How much?”

“Too much.”

Tarkhe nodded.

“Anything else?”

Kimia hesitated one fraction too long.

“Quarter kilcane.”

His expression flattened.

“Condensed.”

“Yes.”

“Kimia.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Vehm examined the lobby ceiling.

Tarkhe sighed.

“How do you feel?”

“Awake.”

“That is not enough information.”

“On zhe edge.”

“Of?”

“Too awake.”

He studied her, then nodded once.

“No more.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

“That sentence has historical problems.”

Kimia looked at him.

He did not retract it.

The ride to the Diet building passed beneath morning light.

The Teeth stood over everything, or at least most buildings in this area. The city flowed around its base as though Val Salia had been poured there and solidified.

Vehm looked out the window.

Kimia looked at her hands.

Alert.

Too alert.

Not yet.

Her thoughts wanted work.

Good.

Give them work.

The hall looked almost identical to the previous day.

Perhaps slightly less impressive because familiarity had already begun eating grandeur.

Delegates entered. Staff moved through aisles. Televox technicians tested displays. Aides carried papers. Security occupied the rear.

Kimia's indrel took nearly the exact position it had yesterday.

Her personal guards did the same.

Vehm disappeared toward the observer gallery.

Before leaving, he leaned close.

“Try not to declare war.”

“I don't have zhat auzhority.”

“Never stopped anyone historically.”

“Go.”

He went.

Kimia sat.

Paper. Writing implements. Water.

Good.

She ignored the countdown on the televox screen.

Eight forty-one.

Did not matter.

She took one sheet.

Wrote:

TILMUHL

Under it:

MOBILIZATION THRESHOLDS

Then:

regular formations across recognized border
state-attributable attack on Heart installation
forced closure / seizure of commercial transit
attack on allied strategic infrastructure?
evidence of preparation vs signaling

Her writing became faster.

She slowed deliberately.

Another heading:

PESHTUL'S CAPACITY

Garang. Voivode. Transport. Engineers. Medical. Ammunition. Rail bottlenecks.

Then she found herself writing:

WHEN DOES A ROPE KNOW IT IS BREAKING

Kimia stopped and looked at the sentence.

No.

She crossed it out.

The ink line seemed too black.

For one moment the paper looked wet.

Not ink.

Blood.

Kimia blinked.

Paper.

Just paper.

The intrusive image tried to build around it.

Tile. Drainage channel. Hanging shapes.

No.

She put both palms flat against the table.

Cold wood. Diet hall. Val Salia. Morning. Quarter kilcane. Uneven sleep. History. Known problem. Not reality.

She drank water.

The black line became only ink again.

Good.

Someone beside her greeted another delegate. A chair scraped.

The room returned.

Eight fifty-nine.

The main doors opened.

The hall quieted.

House Ivenmoth officials entered.

Then Ieronim Val Salia.

Kimia watched.

He walked more slowly than yesterday, walking with his cane like he did the day before. 

Kimia took in the details of the cane this time. 

Dark wood with a metal head.

The horned Ivenmoth figure was already near his place.

He stood.

Everyone stood.

Kimia did too.

Ieronim reached his chair, but before sitting, he did something unexpected.