At the relay station, Sera found three people arguing over the same empty chair.
It belonged to the emergency safety desk, which had moved twice since the power began failing. The inspector’s office had sent someone there, a guard insisted. A runner said the desk had moved again. The woman keeping the receiving register pointed to the chair and said that whichever of them sat down could begin by answering the six people waiting beside it.
Sera kept the padded device against her ribs.
“I need a particular recipient,” she said. “This isn’t a general incident report.”
The register keeper looked at the sealed sleeve instead of reaching for it. “Living recipient?”
“Yes.”
The question was practical. Behind the desk, a second register listed the references of people whose bodies had come out. Sera gave the daughter’s name quietly and showed the corrected contact number. The woman checked the current location sheet, found the office staff’s last message, and sent a runner to a nearby municipal annex.
“We can confirm whether she’s there. I can’t send that with somebody who doesn’t know what they’re carrying.”
