"What's his apartment number again?"
"F-Fifty-fifth floor, Block PP… Apartment sixty-nine."
Lucian nodded once.
The rest of the council waited in stiff silence as Lucian resumed the meeting—no hesitation, no pause, as if the previous topic had been nothing more than dust on his coat.
They discussed orbital routes, new energy taxation proposals, complaints from the Astraeus Chamber of Commerce, negotiations with the military branches, a scandal involving one of the Red Family's cousins—every matter laid out neatly on the holo-table.
Lucian solved problems like stacking bricks.
Cold decisions.
Precise orders.
Zero delays.
When one of the council heads stuttered during a briefing, Lucian didn't allow him to restart.
"Next."
A single word erased the man's career.
When the energy director questioned the feasibility of reallocating power grids to outlying colonies, Lucian didn't argue.
"You'll do it," he said. "Motion passed."
There was no vote.
His word was the vote.
