The mess hall in A Block sagged under the weight of recycled heat and old rations.
Tables leaned sideways, trays cracked along the seams, the faint sour smell of gray-food clinging to the air. The lighting buzzed in the ceiling panels overhead, dim and sickly.
Elias sat across from Faye, their trays pushed between them, untouched.
Dot's blue glow hovered low at the table's edge, her hum faint but steady, matching the sluggish beat of his shard still pressing in his ribs.
The tension from the command room hadn't left him. It sat just under his skin, the Chairwoman's question — Will you break? — still scraping across the back of his mind like a blade he couldn't sheath.
He shoved the tray forward, the texture gritty and uneven under his fingers. His hands ached from how tightly he'd held himself together.
