“Anichin rest,” he murmured, not as a citation, but as a question.
The city called it wasted time.
“Anichin rest,” Elara corrected softly. anichin rest
“Anichin rest.”
Neon pulses hummed through walls, desks glowed with urgent memos, and wrist-chimes trilled every fourteen minutes. Productivity was sacred. Rest was a rumor. “Anichin rest,” he murmured, not as a citation,