I kept my hand an inch from the glass door and breathed. Four in, six out. The air tasted like perfume over stone. Lust on the surface. Something straighter, stronger, and far older underneath. Empyrean Order.
The moment you say the name, the room stops pretending not to listen.
"Arthur," Valeria murmured along my forearm, her voice bright but sharp, "you're making the face you make right before you decide to pick a fight with a building."
"I'm remembering," I said.
The threads of compulsion in the walls brightened, singing in a unified chorus. The ridges in the ceiling picked up a soft, insistent beat. The glass door before me fogged, and the word flashed again, polite as a guillotine.
KNEEL.
