They stood along the back rail, not part of the core team at the consoles, but close enough to read the screens without squinting.
Lanyards showed visiting colors. Some wore suits that tried too hard to look like they belonged in a place where people moved fast.
Others wore jackets that had seen field mud, their shoulders set like people for whom sitting still was work.
They were assistants, liaisons, observers from other academies and quiet departments that liked to stand behind walls and call it policy.
They were here to watch, measure, and take notes, which they would carry home and argue about later.
They spoke softly because the room spoke softly. Their words were practical, almost clinical, but the edges told on them anyway.
"The Moonshade twins," one said, a woman with a tidy braid and a pen that never tapped.
"Their split roles are clean. One hunts openings, the other keeps the route honest. The relay is quick."
