YEAR SIX — MID-SUMMER — 6:14 A.M.
The message arrived in the bread.
Not metaphorically.
An actual loaf of morning rye from the south market split cleanly down the middle when Mira cut it, and inside—where there should have been steam and crumb—was a folded black card.
No one in the kitchen said anything for three whole seconds.
Then Ezra whispered, with dreadful admiration, "That is technically elegant."
Kassandra, who had apparently entered the room so quietly that none of us had noticed, said, "If you praise him one more time before breakfast, I will put you through the wall."
Ezra took a step back. "Emotionally noted."
Mira unfolded the card.
No emblem.
No threat language.
No black cracks in the sky.
Just typed text. Clean. Precise.
> **I request terms.**
>
> **No chapter attack. No sabotage. No forced endings.**
>
> **A neutral meeting.**
>
> **You, me, and witnesses.**
>
> **I propose we discuss settlement before this becomes another cycle of escalation.**
