As soon as Elius uttered that single, firm word—"Yes"—the entire room seemed to pause, as though holding its breath.
The men in black exchanged glances.
Their faces, though emotionless, shifted ever so slightly in posture.
One leaned his head a fraction toward the other.
Another's jaw twitched. And then—ever so quietly—they began whispering among themselves.
Their conversation was like the flickering hum of arcane frequencies, far too quiet for ordinary ears. But it was intense. Heads tilted, eyes narrowing and then widening again.
One of them pulled out a thin data slate and tapped across its holographic screen, showing the others some sort of record.
Another produced a smaller, gem-like lens from his inner coat pocket and peered into it, then gave a subtle nod.
Words passed silently: coded phrases, references, cross-confirmations.
What sounded like the occasional "...he really did?" or "...confirmed it twice?" barely whispered past their lips.
