#loitering.

“None of them can see you,” the Vice Chairman said.

The Vice Chairman awoke in a sunlit room, its smooth floor polished stone. The sun poured through a window in the ceiling, fashioned from a glass that was not quite plateen, but had a familiar sheen. Beside him, a boy stirred in the glow of the afternoon rays. He looked to be about fifteen, with a slender face and the soft, round eyes of youth—still more prominent than then rest of his features. His skin and hair, to Ferdinand’s surprise, were covered in a fine, sweet-scented powder in the deepest shade of red that the heir to civilization had ever seen. A soft, white fabric that His Excellency did not recognize draped the boy’s arching limbs. Taken together, it gave the impression of a philosopher’s protege, lounging on the steps of the forum, moment preserved for the consideration of eternity by an ancient canvas. An outwash of scars meandered along the boy’s outstretched arms, wandering like delta oxbows along the sluggish plains of the wrist.