Lunarys, Chapter 5
Nothing Declared, Everything in Motion
A monstrous no-man nearly finishes St. John off, but Jacoby arrives just in time with a vaporizing shot. With the wounded aboard, the crew lifts off—only to face a mid-air swarm. St. John pulls off a risky maneuver to escape. Judah tends to the survivors—and makes a shocking discovery, possibly changing the very history of the wastes.
“This changes nothing!”
Far from the ruins of El Paso, in a penthouse office high above the Byzantys City skyline, Eren Hale of the Virelune Consortium leaned back in his chair, sulking with the posture of a child who had mastered indignation before puberty wandered off and left him behind. His voice mewed with the certainty of someone who had changed many things, except the title on his nameplate.
Across from him, Vivian Montenegro, of MonteCorps, let out a noise halfway between a sigh and a snarl. She flicked her wrist and sent a holo-diagram skimming through the air to hover in front of Mister Hale. She was dressed in a crimson form-fitting three-piece suit with sharp accents, and a skirt that accentuated her legs to a methodical degree. She looked like she had stepped out of an avant-garde fashion archive and decided it needed more dominance. She flicked a perfectly manicured nail toward the projection.
“It’s right there, Mister Hale, plain as the nose on your face,” she snapped, then added with a side-eye, “… especially yours.”
“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” he retorted, momentarily derailed.
Chancellor Susan Cho said nothing, yet the slight twitch of her eyebrow hinted at her annoyance. She stood at the wide window behind the desk known throughout Lunarys as the Steward’s Table. Between her fingers, she held a long onyx sylvette, a small trail of vapor twisting and drifting up from the end. The sun had almost entirely set behind the skyline, sweeping the buildings and airships in sheets of purple and gold while lights twinkled to life like stars, each one a reminder that Lunarys never truly slept, just changed shifts.
She wasn’t tall, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in authority that, like her tailored suits, was precise, quiet, and dangerous when provoked. Today, she wore a black satin tuxedo with lapels so sharp she was in real danger of slicing her own throat. A silver monocle clipped to her lapel glinted whenever she turned her head, its chain looping neatly to a button hook. A single grey streak cut through her otherwise jet-black bob, styled into such immaculate symmetry that it made you want to apologize for your own hair. Her makeup was minimal yet deliberate: just enough to soften her features without sacrificing impact, while her lipstick, a deep red and methodically applied, could be seen from orbit. Her resting expression was calibrated to make even confident people second-guess their best arguments before they opened their mouths.
Officially, this was one of Chancellor Susan Cho’s quarterly strategic briefings. The attendees each embodied pillars of Lunarys’ sector development—logistics, infrastructure, and resource acquisition. Eren Hale, however, was more of a decorative column designed by an architect with a strange sense of humor. Unofficially, the tone had shifted the moment she requested their presence in person. No one pointed it out, but everyone felt it. Now, on the other side of the Steward’s Table, the five attendees sat in two facing rows of comfortable chairs. Between them, a low table held a decanter and several tumblers for anyone in need of a drink, a shield, or a projectile weapon.
Vivian Montenegro was the CEO of MonteCorps, Lunarys’ largest reclamation firm. At first, second, and even third glance, there was no way to deny she personified elegance, yet the reality was that trash was her business. There was nothing, organic or otherwise, that MonteCorps couldn’t reclaim, repurpose, or refine, usually involving fire, and Vivian knew every material by name. These days, she had left the day-to-day operations to others, stepping in only when her presence was required, like now. Her true passion lay in aerospace. As a renowned engineer, her designs were considered among the finest in the world, a fact undisputed mostly because there wasn’t much of a world left to dispute it.
Eren Hale, who insisted on being referred to as ‘Mister Hale,’ sat with the self-importance of someone who had tried to be taller, stronger, and more symmetrical, but had neglected to tell his DNA. The result was a man with the proportions of a decorative salt shaker, and the volume of a malfunctioning P.A. system, which made him hard to overlook, though many had tried. He was not so much ugly as he was aggressively inconvenient to look at.
“The data is right here!” Mister Hale sputtered, his round face turning red as he flailed towards the display. “And it’s not even complete! Didn’t you review reports from your own company, Ms. Montenyago?
Vivian raised an eyebrow at the mispronunciation of her name. It was possible it may have been an attempt at some sort of power play, but given Mister Hale’s propensity for running headfirst into the point and still missing, it was hard to say for sure. “These are your numbers,” she said coldly. “If they’re incomplete, Mister Hale, that’s a conversation you should have with your own data team… preferably before you bring it to mine.”
She leaned back and dramatically began to inspect her nails as a power gesture of her own. She was rewarded moments later by the sharp inhale of breath as Mister Hale, possibly for the first time, began reading the numbers he had been so confidently spouting. In the chair beside her, Calen Vexler of the Excavation Authority, leaned forward, thoughtful but unbothered. He was dignified and rugged, as though he’d been carved from bedrock rather than born. His shoulders filled the space with the kind of quiet authority that made rooms instinctively give way. Unlike the more formal dress of the others, he wore work boots and a utility vest, dust still clinging to the cuffs. A greying beard softened, but couldn’t hide a jawline so strong, it looked capable of breaking marble.
“Mister Hale,” he said, with a baritone that rumbled across the table like distant thunder, “if your engineers had sent this to my team, it would have been flagged and kicked back before it cleared the first checkpoint. Half your metrics are estimates, the rest are three weeks stale, and your soil overlays have not been updated since Sector Solarys switched calibration protocols last month.”
At this, Susan turned her attention back to the meeting, not because she was interested but because she wanted to see how Mister Hale would react. She was not disappointed. He straightened, or attempted to, inflating like a pufferfish with a seafood allergy. His mouth opened to unleash some clever retort… but instead, let out a squeak followed by a high-pitched “I calibrated these myself!”
“Look, no one is trying to embarrass you,” Bastien Joren of the Foundation for Sector Infrastructure said, in spite of the evidence. “But we’re in the middle of a large-scale expansion, and we’re skating on ice so thin you can hear it cracking.” He paused, glanced at the water glass in front of him like it might offer advice, and continued. “We’ve already got boots on the ground and a very large backlog of data we must get through. If we’re serious about Sector Fourteen, we can’t let our egos trip up the survey teams providing these results.”
Bastien had clearly made the effort to look presentable, but with the air of someone who had watched a video tutoral labeled “How to look presentable at a meeting with the leader of the free world in three easy steps” while muttering under his breath and trying to not to turn his neck tie into a noose. Unlike Calen, who wore the dirt like a cologne for men who didn’t believe in cologne, Bastien looked like he’d at least rinsed off the road before arriving. His face bore the sun-brushed wear of a man who preferred sky to ceiling tiles and would rather repair a broken pipeline than debate funding for one. He was quiet, steady, and unnervingly composed like a reservoir that could drown you if you failed to respect it. He kept his thoughts fluid and his voice measured, which, in Mister Hale’s view, was deeply suspicious since if you weren’t shouting, how could people know you were right?
Mister Hale blinked. “What teams?” he asked, confused. “Who’s out there? Why didn’t I hear about this?”
“Oh, I am positive you did.” Vivian muttered, rubbing her temples like they owed her money. Bastien made a simple gesture, and a new holo-display bloomed into view, this time showing a schematic of the V.A.S. Resolute and a headshot of Captain Galloway. St. John’s cheerful grin hovered in front of Mister Hale, making him recoil. Field operations weren’t typically dissected in these quarterly sessions, but then again, nothing about this meeting had followed protocol, least of all the real reason they were all in the room.
“Commander Bellwood is overseeing the mission,” Bastien explained. “When the last axis shift rolled through, it pulled the hyper-current off its usual course, uncovering the El Paso ruins along with other notable items, like enough raw material to sustain the outer fortifications and build a few new bridges. Early recon flagged the site, and since the hyper-currents are still settling into their new path, the risk of hyper-storms has increased significantly. They needed someone who could fly through it, so they took the Resolute. Galloway knows how to handle rough skies.”
“Barely,” Mister Hale muttered.
Dr. Esme Calderin of the Climate and Terrain Commission shifted in her seat, keeping her eyes firmly on her holo-display. “You’re welcome to try piloting an airship through a category seven hyperstorm,” she said, waving her fingers to verify some stray data before looking at Mister Hale with the weary patience of a teacher grading her fifth essay, titled “Why Gravity Is Just a Suggestion.” Her patchwork dress was light, flowing, and entirely unpredictable as vibrant and chaotic patterns merged with one another. In addition to her communication bracelet, which was garish in brass, she wore several bracelets and charms, along with a striking pair of dangly earrings that jingled softly every time she gestured, which was often. She didn’t speak as much as she meandered verbally through theories and observations, but her insights were razor-sharp beneath the wild hair, a chaotic swirl barely tamed by a stylus.
“The next axis shift may not happen for a few years and may cause the hyper-current to return to its original course,” she continued. We must seize the opportunity to salvage as much of the ruins as possible, not to mention the invaluable archaeological and cultural information we’d be able to add to our records. Given how volatile that area still is, we needed a ship with a Captain who knows his way around a storm.”
“Yes, I know all about Captain Galloway,” Hale said, the contempt so thick it might have required a cutting torch. “What I’m not familiar with is this site. Why are we sending an airship all the way to El Paco, or whatever it’s called? There are dozens of viable sites closer to home.”
“El Paso,” Susan corrected, stepping away from the window. She walked to the desk like a cat and sank into her chair, fingers still toying with her sylvette. “And I think you’ll find, Mister Hale, that none of those other sites have a persistent radiation bloom or the kind of record-breaking atmospheric anomalies we’re seeing there.” She took a long draw from the sylvette, vapor curling around her fingers like lazy smoke. You know, clearing the eastern burn zone has been a priority of this office since before I became Chancellor. Those radiation readings might be able to tell us how.”
“Or even give us some clue as to how to get close enough to even try,” Vivian added. “No one has been able to get near them for centuries.” She paused, narrowing her eyes in thought. “I’ve always wondered if the radiation from the area might be somewhat… overstated?”
“Well, it’s certainly true that the burn zone radiation has actually reduced quite a bit in the last fifty years,” Esme prompted, “but I doubt very much you’d be able to handle the smell. Even with your senses temporarily dulled, it would knock you out. Wasteland fauna aren’t even capable of getting anywhere near it. The sulfur levels have become so toxic that even breathing in a little could cause permanent lung damage.”
“Can we get back on topic?” Mister Hale said pointedly. “We aren’t going to any burn zones any time soon.”
“Quite so,” Susan said. As Mr. Joren pointed out, there is substantial salvage to be processed. We’ve seen the preliminary estimates, which suggest a site large enough to sustain most of Sector Fourteen. Possibly even parts of Sector Fifteen… assuming the data continues to support it. Which, of course, would require someone to read it.
“Well,” Mister Hale said, visibly shrinking into his seat. “I suppose I hadn’t gotten that far into these reports.”
“Naturally,” Susan replied with a humorless smile. “A man of your… scope can’t be expected to read everything.
“Exactly!” Mister Hale beamed, misreading the moment with alarming confidence. Vivian and Calen exchanged a glance so dense with subtext it may have legally constituted a thesis. Eme just rolled her eyes, while Bastien looked genuinely disappointed, as though hoping for some unexpected glimmer of insight. At the desk, Susan exhaled a slow stream of vapor, sending it upward like a benediction for her patience. This had been entertaining, but now it was time to get to the point.
“I do appreciate you all taking the time to come, I know it’s late in the day,” Susan said in an even, unhurried voice. A flick of her wrist activated the black bracer at her wrist, casting a clean beam of light into the air behind her. A blank holo-display appeared behind her. She made a few lazy motions with her fingers, causing the display to fill with numbers and diagrams, projections, supply routes, and other large amounts of data. Everyone in the room leaned forward to get a better view, except Mister Hale, who narrowed his eyes and perched his fingers in a way he assumed made him look intelligent without actually doing anything.
“I would like to commend you on the quality of your work,” Susan said, pointedly avoiding Mr. Hale’s face, who in turn seemed oblivious. “What has been provided tonight almost perfectly aligns with the cabinet projections from the Labor, Interior, and Resource offices.” Another wave from both hands sent the projections to each of their personal displays. The room fell silent as each one scrutinized the information provided. After a moment, Calen gave a low, appreciative whistle with a look of approval.
“I gotta say, Chancellor, the cabinet knows how to run a grid,” he said without looking up. “Some of these are still estimates on our end. The E.A. hasn’t finalized the downstream loads, but they align with our own projections. If these hold, we might be able to start laying the foundation for Sector Fourteen six months early.”
“Yes,” Vivian said, eyes still on her screen. Then she looked up directly at Susan. “Which almost begs the question: why exactly were we called here tonight, if you already knew all of this? As far as I can tell, all we’ve been able to do is verify the information you already have.”
Susan took a slow draw from her sylvette and exhaled a thin, silver spiral, giving Vivian a smile so sharp it would have cut steel. “Ah, I am glad you asked. As Chancellor, clarity and precision are essential, and as Chancellor, I am expected to hold leaders like yourself to a high standard. You, in turn, ask a great deal of our citizens, our scientists, engineers, and most of all, the three branches of the Vanguard Unified Alliance.”
Vivian’s expression remained unchanged. She stared at Susan with such ferocity that the chancellor probably should have spontaneously combusted. The others nodded in uncertain agreement, unsure of what exactly was happening. Susan gestured again. The display shifted to a mission profile from the V.S.A. Resolute alongside the smiling headshot of Captain Galloway. Next to it, a growing web of coordinates, data streams, and briefs appeared, breaking down the crew's orders.
“It’s all pretty straightforward,” Susan continued, “Captain St. John Galloway, under the direction of Commander Kimber Bellwood, is to take the Resolute to the El Paso salvage field… named after the pre-cataclysm city,” she added for those who had skipped the history primer. “The field is on the edge of the Rokma Hyper-Current, which is why a crew with severe weather experience was necessary. There, they will spend a week conducting a preliminary survey of the area, returning with base data that will be combined with your own and that of various other organizations and governing entities. From there, a larger survey fleet will return for a more detailed examination of the area before a full reclamation expedition will return to process and catalogue everything there.” She paused for effect. “It’s really quite standard and something we’ve done many times before.
“Oh yes!” Esme said, with the enthusiasm of someone who had once stared down a storm cell and rushed out to shake its hand. “I’ve been on a few of those survey missions myself.” She paused, a wistful look softening her face. “Though I’ve never been quite that close to the hyper-current.”
Susan raised a brow, her expression unreadable. “I also believe it’s not unlike some of the survey work you oversee in your respective private organizations… albeit on a slightly more modest scale.” There were polite nods from the group from everyone except for Vivian, who remained still, her expression the kind that could melt steel. She looked at Susan with the silent scrutiny of someone trying to look behind the curtain. Susan returned her gaze with the calm certainty of someone who had not only pulled the curtain shut but knew exactly what was behind it.
“In fact,” she said, waving two fingers. The display above the Steward’s Table shifted with a shimmer of new data. “There was a geographic survey just two weeks ago, if I’m not mistaken, Mr. Vexler?”
“That’s right,” Calen said, sitting up. “We’re trying to push deeper into what’s left of the old Appalachian corridor, right along the proposed eastern boundary of Sector Fourteen. Right now, it's still unstable, but if we can reinforce the ridgelines and stabilize the surrounding terrain, we could integrate part of the range into a natural outer fortification grid.” He grinned at the others. “It’s less strain on the weather regulators, and it gives more breathing room for the interior zones. It’s ambitious, but we might be on to something.”
“Agreed,” Susan said, giving Calen a genuine smile and a nod. “And of course, all the different survey teams who have been working on this have done an extraordinary job.” Calen beamed and settled back in his chair.
“Thank you very much, Chancellor,” he said as he picked up his glass to take a drink.
“However,” Susan continued, her voice smoothing into something firmer, “Scientists and engineers from the central offices have spent the last two months poring over every metric collected, most of which is exemplary.” She cast a glance toward Mister Hale meant as a warning shot, which sailed over his head without so much as ruffling his hair. “But,” she continued, taking another draw on her sylvette, “a few anomalies have come to my attention, and I must admit, I find them… puzzling.”
Immediately, Mister Hale, Esme, Calen, and Bastien activated their bracers to pore over the data they had been so careful to prepare, hoping to find whatever it was that had slipped past them. Vivian, on the other hand, remained impassive, still staring directly at the Chancellor, who returned her expression with a grin and an exhale of vapor.
“Uh… Maybe if you could tell us what you saw?” Bastien said as confusion filled his voice.
“Of course,” Susan said, waving the display away and tapping her bracer. “Lucca, could you please join us?”
A door from the side of the room opened. A man, or rather the suggestion of one, stepped into the room. There was something unmistakably artificial about him, and not just in the way he moved. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but his face bore faint, almost imperceptible seams that framed a perfect jawline. His eyes were a brilliant blue, with pupils that glowed faintly white. He wore a sharp, understated suit that was more utilitarian than fashionable. In his hands, he carried a slim tablet bound in polished leather. Without a word, he crossed the floor, handed it to Susan, then turned and gave the room a polite nod. Most of the group nodded back, except Mister Hale, who smiled and waved, and Vivian, whose impassive stare had twisted into pure contempt.
Lucca was an artificial intelligence program that had become fully sentient, and thus granted a humanoid body, full autonomy, and citizenship under Lunary's law. This afforded him all the rights of a human, along with all the legal responsibilities. If he ever decided to take over the world, he would be treated like any other megalomaniac, complete with due process and an extremely irritated prosecutor. Fortunately for everyone involved, Lucca seemed perfectly content working as a civil servant.
“Thank you, Lucca,” Susan said. She took the monocle from her lapel and fitted it over her eye, then she opened the tablet cover and examined it. her brow wrinkling as if in thought—though that may have been more for show than necessity. After a few moments, she looked up at the group again.
“Mr. Joren,” she said. Bastien sat to attention. “I understand that you were part of a survey team examining water samples in the far north, not far from the boundaries of the Rokma hyper-current.”
“That’s right,” Bastien said. “We were studying the bacterium and radiation levels to see if there was any connection to the burn zones.”
“Quite,” Susan replied, looking back at the tablet. “It says here, though, that one of the crew discovered a strange formation in the ground… possibly of an unknown animal species?”
Bastien’s face went blank as he tried to recall. He tapped his bracer a few times to bring up a holo-display of the report in question. “Uh… yes,” he said, “but as far as I knew, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. I know some of the lab techs took some readings and a deep scan, but I didn’t think much of it.”
“Understandable,” Susan said, not unkindly. “So it’s possible that you weren’t aware of the DNA traces that were also collected with it.”
Bastien’s eyes widened in surprise as he reexamined the data. “I… wasn’t aware,” he sputtered. “What kind of DNA?”
“That’s the question,” Susan said, then turned to Esme. “Dr. Calderin, you led the recent expedition to the Delta Remnant Zone. If I’m not mistaken, your team was there during a Strata-10 hyperstorm?”
“Oh yes!” Esme lit up, her bracelets chiming in delight as she sat forward. “We were stationed just along the outer vortex—sheltered, of course. It was… positively apocalyptic. I've studied my share of violent weather, but that was my first S-10. Usually, I don’t get to see anything higher than an S-8 without getting reassigned for ‘reckless enthusiasm.” She giggled as though this were a compliment.
“Yes,” Susan said, gently steering the conversation back. “Following the event, a geological survey team from Mr. Vexler’s organization conducted a sweep of the affected region.”
Esme tilted her head thoughtfully. “Yes, I remember that one. Looked almost like it had been carved. Very strange layering on the underside.”
“Very strange,” Susan said, not looking up. “Because, while your team recorded the physical properties, it seems no one followed up with a forensic scan.”
Esme’s smile faltered. “Ah. That’s… outside my specialization, I’m afraid. Weather is my area. Anything more solid tends to be someone else’s department.”
“Of course,” Susan said smoothly. “But had those scans been completed, you would have found that several of the so-called ‘rocks’ weren’t geological at all.”
“What?” Esme and Calen said in unison. “You can’t be serious,” Calen added. “We would’ve noticed something like that.”
“Not necessarily,” Susan replied. “A full catalog hasn’t been finalized. However, the initial molecular scans detected trace DNA signatures—similar, in fact, to those found in the samples brought back by Mr. Joren’s teams.”
“What exactly are you getting at?” Mister Hale asked.
Before Susan could respond, Vivian gave a small, deliberate cough. “Come now, Chancellor,” she said, “why don’t you just tell them what all this is about?”
“I could,” Susan said, “but please, I’m more than happy to let you share what you’ve discovered.” Vivian flashed her an expression that said ‘I’ll remember that,’ while Susan returned it with one that replied ‘I’m sure you will.’
“Thank you,” Vivian said coldly. She tapped her bracer, which caused a large holo-display to appear and project up above the group, casting pale light across their faces. A large DNA strand with jagged edges rotated ominously alongside a skeletal schematic of something too tall and slender.
“Now, genetics is not my strong point,” she said, nodding at Esme, “So I’m relying heavily on what our in-house consultant passed along.” She took a breath, more out of habit than hesitation. “The DNA samples in question are unrecognized, though they do show some similarities to standard no-men profiles.””
“How similar?” Mister Hale said, an edge in his voice.
Vivian shook her head. “That’s hard to quantify. As I said, this isn’t my specialty, so I won’t pretend to parse the genetic minutiae. What I can tell you is this: during a reclamation mission, one of our teams uncovered what we initially assumed was a standard no-man. But closer inspection revealed several anomalies, elongated limbs, reduced bone density, and proportions we’ve never cataloged before.”
“What exactly did you find?” Bastien said. Vivian shrugged
“I honestly couldn’t say,” she said, “We brought the remains back for proper analysis… not by us of course.”
“And you didn’t think to tell anyone?” Mister Hale said, once again attempting his allergic blowfish impression. Vivian waved him off with a flick of her hand.
“We handed the remains over to a laboratory in Sector Alexandrys that specializes in wasteland fauna.” She said. “I certainly have no interest in telling the population there’s a new apex predator loose in the wastes? I doubt the public would find that reassuring.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Susan said, her tone deceptively mild. “Most citizens came here as refugees. Many of them survived things far worse than a hypothetical monster. We’ve lived through natural disasters, falling moon debris, and a dozen crises that would’ve ended lesser civilizations. Panic isn’t really our style.” She paused for a draw from her sylvette. “The people of Lunarys don’t panic, they prepare. But that’s not the point,” she added quickly, catching the flicker of protest in Vivian’s expression. “The remains still require a complete analysis before anything is announced publicly.”
Vivian narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Susan had already turned back to her tablet. With a gentle wave, she transmitted the data to the others’ bracers. One by one, smaller projections shimmered into view, replicating the DNA model Vivian had displayed, now with new annotations and forensic overlays.
Susan leaned back into her chair and addressed the group. “I’d like each of you to integrate this data with your own and update your findings accordingly,” she said. “If this is a no-man mutation, or something else entirely, we need to understand what we’re dealing with.” She turned to Mister Hale. “I’d like the Virelune Consortium to run possible projections with the current data. My office will coordinate with the genetic research centers to supply everyone with full access once we've proceeded to find out what exactly this is.”
“Of course,” Mister Hale said with syrup in his voice. “If you think it’ll help, I’m sure the folks over there will learn a lot working with us.”
The corner of Susan’s mouth twitched, less a smile than the facial equivalent of a warning label. “I’m delighted to hear it,” she replied evenly. She tapped her bracer to check the time, then glanced up at the room. “It’s getting late, and I’d hate to take up any more of your valuable expertise.”
“We’re free to go?” Vivian said, standing up with just the hint of confusion on her face.
“Of course,” Susan said. Lucca leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. “Ah, Ms. Montenegro, we have a meeting scheduled later this week, correct?”
Vivian’s jaw tightened as though the other shoe had dropped. “Yes, we do, Chancellor,” she said.
“I’m afraid I must move it up to tomorrow at midday,” Susan said. “I know it’s short notice, but it can’t be helped.”
“At midday?” Vivian repeated as her eyes narrowed. Susan’s eyes darted to meet hers as though to whisper some unheard command.
“That’s right,” Susan said. “I will see you then,” she added without any consideration that Vivian might protest. Vivian froze and then nodded.
“I’ll have to move some things around, but yes,” she said, “I will meet you back here tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Susan said. “Have a good night.”
The group walked somberly across the marble floor to the elevator, where the open door awaited them. When the door closed and they were alone, Susan pulled out her monocle and clipped it back to her lapel. She leaned forward, rubbing her temples. Lucca walked over beside her with a glass of water.
“Do you think Ms. Montenegro knows why you want to see her tomorrow?” Lucca asked, his smooth voice underscored by a subtle harmonic that gave it an otherworldly resonance. Susan glanced back toward the elevator doors.
“I would be surprised if she didn’t, Lucca,” Susan said. She picked up the glass and slowly spun her chair towards the window, gazing at the skyline. “But just in case, I intend to remind her.”