Was that necessary? Was that [i]really[/i] necessary? Adding in the little personal address at the end? Now he has to say something back. He was falling to pieces a moment ago. The news is…he has to know, doesn’t he? He can’t [i]not[/i] know what that means, to him. How can he say it so casually? The same way he can ask him to make a polite response, now that he’s been lightly addressed. The words carved into his bones spring to his lips. His voice is warring to stay neutral, and warring where to go from there. “Thank you. I’ll-”

[i]You’ll like him.[/i]

Dolce freezes.

“Why should I be meeting a Regional Director? I’m not part of the Service.”

20022 is watching him. The Royal Architect is passively watching him. The Emissary is watching nothing. There is one door, to his right, currently closed. The room contains a shack, an X carved on the floor, a ramshackle table and chairs, food, water, fire, on the table, several patches of torn floor. Nothing within arm’s reach of anyone but the Emissary. Nothing between him and anyone else. Apertures for drones cannot be seen. He hears them in the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. There must be many. The buzzing is constant. They are not moving in. 

He is standing with his hooves shoulder-width apart. His hands are clasped together, at his waist. He is leaning neither forward nor back. He is not moving. He is looking at 20022. He is speaking. 

He is not safe.

“...why did you bring me here in the first place?”