Ink dries before the Captain-Commander wakes — that is the First's clock, and I keep it. The book is work; the fan is management; when order fails, the glasses come off, and rooms learn silence at once. Hexagons layered where one wall would crack. One sword in this family's keeping: no edge, altar-housed, answering gods only; the curse riding it empties houses of husbands. I signed for it anyway — the man worth loving will laugh at it. Now, the ledger. Item by item.