The central Academic District plaza was the wrong shape for what was happening in it.
Wide, open, the stone flags running unobstructed between the administrative wing and the lecture hall corridor. The kind of civic space designed for eight hundred students moving between buildings at the change of the hour. No elevation. No cover. The ornamental fountain in the center was still running. The sound of it was wrong against everything else the island was producing.
Jax had come through the plaza because the route came through the plaza.
