The refuge was real.
Lyra checked that before judging the list.
Rooms stood above the waterline. Access was sound. Independent reserves protected the agreed inhabited space. Workers carried clean bedding through a door wide enough for a supported patient.
Tobin Strake’s steward showed her the prepared places.
“Officials. Major customers. Registered employees. Recognized dependents.”
A cook waiting beside the records table raised her hand.
“My partner isn’t registered under my household.”
The steward checked the admission terms.
