By the time Nero reached Arion's office, the day had turned into something flat and metallic.
He had gone through the rest of it on training and habit alone. Signed what needed signing. Answered what required answers. Sat through the remainder of the meeting with Sebastian across the table and treated him exactly the way he had promised: with perfect civility and nothing else.
It had unsettled Sebastian far more than anger would have.
Nero no longer had the energy to enjoy that.
Arion's office was quieter than most rooms in the administrative wing and larger too, built for his size and habits rather than court aesthetics. The desk was wide, the chairs deep, the shelves lined not with decorative nonsense but reports, maps, military ledgers, and sealed files. One full wall held the summer campaign projections already in draft: routes, infected-zone movement, supply corridors, field rotation proposals, and seasonal risk assessments.
