The patient with gray twine was eleven years old.
The age mattered because everyone understood what it was meant to do.
An adult witness could be argued with. A student witness could be categorized. A noble witness could be politically weighed. An eleven-year-old civilian with a bleeding arm and a grief-knot on his wrist forced every system in the room to expose what it protected first.
Doctrine.
Mercy.
Evidence.
Image.
The simulation had built a child out of light and cruelty, then asked who would blink first.
Yoren expected Seraphina to.
That was the simulation's cruelty.
Not subtle.
Not even pretending.
A projected boy sat inside the chapel shelter with one arm wrapped in cloth, one cheek bruised, and gray twine tied around his wrist in a knot almost correct enough to hurt. He wore no academy uniform. Civilian variable. Low-status marker. Memory carrier. A perfect target for anyone wanting to make mercy choose between doctrine and grief.
