Solomon's chamber sat near the top of the Spire, right below the Lighthouse, half the room wrapped in curved glass windows, top to bottom, that framed the city in a slow arc - petals half-open in the distance, avenues and rail lines catching the late afternoon light filtered through the clouds, banners along the bridge still hanging from the ceremony that had ended six hours and one trial ago. The desk in the middle was large - dark wood, polished, way too wide for a thirteen-year-old. The great seal of Neoshima hung on the wall behind the chair.
Everyone was in the room. They followed Solomon, from the Hall of Deliberation, after he snuck back in.
