Felix put his feet on the floor and checked the local cue beneath his hand.
Tamsin waited beside the rebuilt model. The independent cutoff stood where its keeper could reach it without asking the man in the chair to finish an important thought.
Barnaby wrote the test question at the top of the sheet.
One concealed return. Interval from input to arrival. Shape within the observed portion.
Not a prediction of what all seven gates ought to do.
The room smelled of damp wood, washed vessels, and the faint oil from the timer. Someone had finally cleaned the last trace of syrup from the diagram table.
Felix adjusted the cushion to its agreed side of the chair. The local cue remained clear. He checked the range his hand would move through before closing his eyes for the brief settled preparation.
Three weeks ago he would have liked an audience waiting for a marvel. Today he wanted the keeper’s actual sequence hidden from him until after his report.
