Mike stood silent for a moment, his eyes traveling methodically across the three sketches. He was a man who understood the weight of decisions, and he saw the tragedy laid bare in the linework.
The third drawing was undeniably professional. It was clean, legible, and stripped of any radical eccentricity. It was the kind of design that could be presented to a board of directors, signed off on a budget, and built without a single argument. It was, quite simply, saleable.
The second one, however, was a different beast entirely. It was a complex, breathing organism of shadow and light. It was honest, painfully so, and infinitely more interesting, possessing a soul that the third one lacked.
It was a vision of what could be, rather than what was merely practical.
"What happens to the people who can see the second one," Mike asked, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register that seemed to vibrate in the small room, "and realize they'll never be the ones to build it?"
