When the bell thuds like a slow pulse, Annex Two holds its breath. Elias Knox has nothing holy to offer—only chalk lines, a metronome, and a table printed large enough for tired eyes. Navigator Cassia Belisarius asks for plain talk and a way to steady her hand when the dark sweet-talks like a friend. A scrap of black cloth becomes a quiet blade; breath falls in fours; numbers cut through the hum. Savine-9 wants results by the half-bell. Father Severian smells a rite where there is only craft. Above, the choir warms; below, the ship sharpens its path through Corridor C. Cassia’s veil dips, the tick holds, and the mock storm reaches for them—and closes on air. Orders crackle from Varra. Logs will be kept. Names will be named. Because on a ship that loves noise, survival belongs to those who can make it boring. The half-bell sounds. Elias writes four words on the board, big and clean, the kind a weary crew can carry in one hand:ADJUST. HOLD. WAIT. NOW.Reformed Theologian GPT: https://chat.openai.com/g/g-XXwzX1gnv-reformed-theologianhttps://buymeacoffee.com/edi2730

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