Radimir’s office was steeped in bluish half-light.

  Three monitors on the desk glowed—charts, spreadsheets, open messages. Radimir sat in front of them but wasn’t looking at the screens. He just sat there, staring at one spot.

  Lelya knocked on the doorframe. Radimir flinched.

  —Come in.

  She closed the door behind her. The office smelled of cold coffee and something bitter—exhaustion, maybe, or disappointment.

  —Come to collect the access credentials? — he asked. His voice was steady, without reproach. — I’ve already transferred administrator rights to you. All the databases, contacts, analytical systems. Personal notes on the chief mages I sent in a separate archive—there’s a lot in there that shouldn’t be kept on the shared servers.

  —Radimir.

  He finally raised his head. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, but there wasn’t that emptiness in them that Lelya had feared. More like fatigue. A very old fatigue.

  —I didn’t know Varvara would do this, — Lelya said. — I didn’t ask her to. I didn’t want it.

  —I know. — Radimir leaned back in his chair. — Varvara doesn’t consult. She decides.

  Lelya walked to the visitor’s chair and sat down. Radimir watched her in silence.

  —Why aren’t you angry?

  —Should I be?

  —I would be.

  Radimir was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, walked to the window. Beyond the panoramic glass, city lights glowed—advertisements, car headlights, apartment windows.

  —Do you know how old I am?

  —No.

  —Four hundred and twelve. — He traced a finger across the glass, leaving a streak on the fogged surface. — I took this post eighty-seven years ago. Ambitious, confident. I thought I’d change the world.

  Lelya listened.

  —The first ten years I burned with it. The next twenty—I worked. The fifty after that—I endured. — He turned around. — Have you ever felt out of place? Not because you can’t handle it—you can. But every day takes effort. Like wearing someone else’s clothes and pretending they fit.

  —I thought you liked this job.

  —I like thinking. Analyzing. Building models, seeing connections. — He came back to the desk and sat on the edge. — But speaking? Persuading? Standing in front of a room and making people believe? That’s not me. It never was.

  Lelya remembered his speech at the Council. The flawless logic that crumbled under pressure. The pauses that stretched too long. The voice that began to tremble.

  —You knew, — she said slowly. — You knew all along that you couldn’t handle that part. Why didn’t you ask Varvara to step down?

  —Because someone had to do it. And there was no worthy replacement. — Radimir smirked. — Until yesterday.

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  He turned to the computer and opened a file.

  —I’ve sent you an archive. Everything I’ve learned in eighty-seven years. Every chief mage, minister, rumor, secret. Weaknesses, fears, leverage. Part of it is encrypted—I’ll send the password separately, through a private channel.

  —And you?

  —I’ll be around. Planning, analyzing, preparing materials. — He straightened up. — But I won’t go on stage anymore. And honestly? For the first time in fifty years, I’m glad.

  They stayed until dawn.

  Radimir opened file after file—dossiers on chief mages, records of negotiations, analytical reports. He showed her hidden folders, explained the tagging system and cross-references.

  When the sky outside paled, he closed the last document.

  —One more thing. Wulf. He’s not just an orator. He’s dangerous. And now that he’s seen they put you in my place, he’ll want to test you personally.

  —I didn’t replace you. Varvara decided.

  —In his eyes, it’s the same thing. — Radimir stood and stretched. — Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow’s your first session in your new capacity. You can’t show up with circles under your eyes.

  Lelya rose.

  —Radimir. Thank you.

  —Don’t mention it. Just don’t let Monolith down.

  She nodded and left.

  The corridor was quiet. Somewhere a lift hummed, somewhere a guard made his rounds. An ordinary night in Alnar.

  But for her—the last night of her old life.

  The conference hall of the Supreme Council took up the entire top floor.

  An oval table of dark wood, leather chairs, panoramic screens on the walls. In front of each seat—a built-in tablet with the session’s materials.

  Lelya arrived five minutes early. Varvara was already seated at the head of the table, scrolling through something on her screen. Svarog occupied the seat to her right—motionless, his face unreadable.

  The other ministers were taking their seats, murmuring to one another. Lelya noticed the glances—appraising, curious.

  She took Radimir’s former seat. The chair felt too large. But she made herself sit straight.

  Roslava settled across from her. Their eyes met—she gave the slightest nod. Not approval, but not hostility either.

  —The session is open, — Varvara said, setting aside her stylus.

  The first forty minutes were routine.

  Polina put up charts on the main screen showing the state of medical infrastructure. Mislav read through legal reports in a monotone. Shotsky proposed funding for a new cultural center—polite objections, a compromise.

  Lelya listened, observed.

  Svarog didn’t say a word. Roslava asked sharp questions—probing, not attacking. Mislav glanced at Varvara from time to time, seeking approval. Polina kept to the sidelines.

  And Shotsky… Lelya noticed how he looked at Varvara. Briefly, almost imperceptibly. And how she didn’t look back—too pointedly.

  Interesting.

  —We move to foreign policy, — Varvara announced. Her voice turned harder. — Lelya?

  All eyes turned to her.

  Lelya touched her tablet, and a map with color-coded influence zones appeared on the main screen.

  —After the defeat at the World Council, our positions are weakened, — she began. — The Citadel received an informal confirmation that it was in the right. Allies who were wavering will lean their way. We need to act fast.

  Mislav scoffed:

  —And what do you propose? Another run at the Council?

  —No. Change the battlefield.

  —Meaning?

  —The World Council is too public an arena. Emotions decide things there. But there are smaller councils, bilateral negotiations, secret agreements. — She switched the slide. — Three weeks ago, the Citadel initiated a trade dispute with the Coastal Union. A trifle, formally unrelated to us. But if the Union loses—it becomes dependent on the Citadel.

  Roslava leaned forward:

  —And?

  —At the next vote, that’s minus one for us. Plus one for them. — A new slide. — I propose we support the Coastal Union. Unofficially. Legal consultations, analysis, information. They win. We get a grateful ally.

  Svarog raised his head for the first time:

  —The Citadel will find out.

  —Possibly. But they won’t be able to prove it.

  Silence. The ministers exchanged glances.

  Varvara drummed her fingers on the table.

  —How much will it cost?

  —Not much. The main value is information I’ve already gathered. Contacts, weak points in the Citadel’s position.

  —Are you sure it will work?

  Lelya paused.

  —I’m sure it’s better than doing nothing.

  Varvara nodded:

  —Approved. Go ahead.

  Lelya sat down. Her heart was pounding, but she didn’t let it show.

  First test passed.

  By the end of the session she knew several new things. Mislav was jealous of Shotsky. Roslava didn’t trust Varvara but respected her. Polina avoided politics. Svarog knew more than anyone but spoke less than anyone.

  When the ministers began filing out, Varvara gestured for Lelya to stay.

  —Not bad for a first time. But there’s one more matter.

  —What?

  —Your security.