Administrator Venn waited until the last member of the dining staff had left before speaking again.
The doors closed softly behind them.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The dining room still looked prepared for diplomacy rather than conspiracy: polished walnut beneath their hands, half-finished wine in crystal glasses, candles burning low between arrangements of winter greenery. Beyond the tall windows, the harbor lights trembled across black water.
Venn looked around the table.
"The people in this room are here because I trust them."
Dean's attention moved across the four councilors.
None appeared surprised.
Minister Corven sat with his hands loosely folded before him, while the others had abandoned the pleasant expressions they had worn throughout dinner.
Only allies.
Arion leaned back slightly. "How many people know why we are here?"
"In this administration?" Venn asked. "Seven."
"Everyone present?"
