The chamber did not ask the question aloud.
It did not need to.
The line of white light that had spread from beneath the box held steady for a moment, then drew inward again, narrowing until it became a thin ring around the plinth. Fang felt the room's attention settle on him, then shift, as though something in the chamber had turned its face towards the wording of the threshold record and found the next step inevitable.
Chosen by the successor line itself.
That was what the paper had said.
Not the directorate.
Not the archive.
Not the witness alone.
Fang's throat felt dry all of a sudden.
Ren noticed, because of course he did. His hand settled once more at Fang's wrist, brief but grounding.
Dr Sane had gone very still. The folded documents in her hands looked almost fragile now, though Fang knew they had carried this logic longer than any of them had been alive.
