The liaison paperwork cleared on a gray morning, and for the first time since he'd arrived in this world, nobody anywhere was scheduled to do anything to Soren Kane.
He checked. That was the joke of it.
He sat at the booth terminal with Dani's access and went looking for the next fight, a habit by now, routine as checking weather, and there wasn't one.
No hearings docketed, reviews pending nor office left standing with both a motive and a budget.
The machine that had spent a year grinding at Class Z was off.
Soren should have felt lighter.
He spent the morning feeling the opposite, and by noon he'd stopped pretending he didn't know why, and he took the count for a walk.
◆◆◆◆
He laid the unowned entries out in order, because order was where hands showed.
The coordinate before the committee ever drafted the fight he'd won to stand on it.
The shell's founding, registered and renewing since before there was anything here worth a shell.
