The room was quiet.
Not in the way most people think of quiet—empty and still—but in the kind of quiet that comes when everyone already knows what's about to be said.
No need to talk. No need to ask. They were here because something had shifted, and the Director had called them. That alone said enough.
Twelve board members. All present. Not on screens. Not as holograms or remote links. In person.
That detail by itself made things feel heavier. They hadn't met face-to-face in years. Not all of them at once. But today, they had.
This wasn't protocol.
This was pressure.
The Director didn't sit. He stood at the front of the room, one hand resting lightly on the corner of the long black table.
The war room's usual displays—maps, feeds, threat grids—were off. Every screen was filled with static. Not a glitch. Not a malfunction. That was on purpose.
Too many eyes were watching lately. Too many systems were wired to other systems.
He didn't want projections.
He didn't need them.
