The room remained silent for a beat, the cadence of the poem still vibrating. Outside, the city’s gray pulse throbbed; within, the air hung suspended. Miok leaned forward, elbows anchored to her knees. “What’s inherently wrong about desire?”

Chris shifted, his chair groaning softly. “What’s the mandate? Must we renounce everything?”

All eyes turned to Tim. He hunched over a scarred notebook. “How should I know? I only wrote it.”

Cantara spoke calmly. “Not all desires share the same soil. Some are noise; others nourish.”

Chris smirked. “Or maybe it’s simpler—two brains fighting for control.”

Miok shook her head. “Only two? I hear many voices—gut, throat, feet.”

Cantara smiled. “And beyond the body—there’s intelligence in the air itself.”

Chris laughed dryly. “We aren’t vast. Only our arrogance is.”