Outward Bound
The quiet of the drafting room was broken only by the steady, rhythmic ticking of the copper joints in my left wrist. Midnight had come and gone hours ago, yet the pile of uninspected requisitions on my desk seemed to grow rather than shrink. Day after day, the administrative machinery of Clockhaven demanded fuel, and I served as its willing furnace - drawing lines, signing permits, and carrying the governance of the Technate entirely on my own while Percival remained absent in the wild.
I did not hear the door open, nor did I notice the quiet footsteps crossing the timber floorboards until a shadow fell across my desk.
"You've been hunched over that same grid for hours, Henry," a familiar voice broke the silence.
I looked up to find Percival standing there, gazing down at me with an expression that carried far too much weight. His travels had weathered him, yet his eyes were sharp enough to pierce straight through the composed facade I maintained for the city. He did not look at the blueprints or the table; he looked directly at the dark shadows beneath my eyes and the stiff, mechanical stillness of my shoulders.
"You look like a machine that's forgotten how to rest," Percival continued, crossing his arms with an unyieldingly. "The city will not collapse if you step away from this desk for a single week. Pack a satchel, take a vessel north into the Brass Sea, and go see what lies beyond the horizon. You built this nation to look forward, Henry - it is time you remembered how to do the same."
I stared at him, caught off guard by the blunt truth of his words. Yet, as I looked past him toward the dark, frost-bitten docks visible through the tall window, a quiet realization settled over me. He was right.
Without another word, I set down my pen, closed the heavy ledger, and reached for my coat.