Epilogue - Lark
Lark
Epilogue — Six Months Later
The building is glass.
On purpose.
No shadows.
No hidden corridors.
No unseen architecture.
Transparency isn’t a feature.
It’s the foundation.
I stand at the podium, looking out over a room filled with journalists, officials, skeptics—
And a few people who look like they’re afraid of me.
Good.
They should be.
Not because I’m dangerous.
Because I don’t let systems hide anymore.
“Systems don’t make decisions,” I say.
My voice carries cleanly across the room.
“People do.”
Silence settles.
Listening.
Weighing.
I continue.
“Architecture doesn’t remove responsibility. It only disguises it. And that’s where we failed.”
I talk about accountability.
About sunlight.
About designing systems that don’t replace conscience—but reinforce it.
That don’t distance people from consequence—
but bring them closer to it.
When I finish, the applause is…
careful.
Measured.
Uncertain.
That’s okay.
Change should make people uncomfortable.
Outside—
Aaron is waiting.
Of course he is.
He leans against the railing, slightly removed from the crowd, eyes scanning without making it obvious.
He hates this part.
The noise. The attention.
But he’s here anyway.
For me.
I walk straight into him.
No hesitation.
His arms come around me like they belong there.
“You just changed the world again,” he says quietly.
I smile against his shoulder.
“This time,” I say,
“I plan to stick around for it.”
He brushes his forehead against mine.
Grounding.
Certain.
“So do I.”