"That one," Mikhailis said softly. He always dropped his voice when something mattered. "Clever, and the nurses like her."
Thalatha stepped closer to the console until the glow rose up into her eyes. She watched how the nurses adjusted to the little one, how they bent a fraction to let her pass, how none of them corrected her tracing. The respect there was small and honest. "House-scent to keep the breathing steady," she said. The words were not just tactics; they were an old truth she trusted.
Mikhailis nodded. Make a room breathe first, then command it. "She'll be queen under the Regent. The Necrolord keeps the crown-spine. The little one keeps the cadence. You and I and Rodion are only the backplane."
Thalatha's eyes narrowed in that particular way that meant agreement, not suspicion. "Layered authority avoids stupid fights."
"I hate stupid fights," he said, then allowed himself an extra beat because he couldn't resist, "the entertaining ones are acceptable."
