#REISS

He didn't answer their questions.

Left the cameras chasing his midnight suit silhouette, clean as an edit. EX-013 drifting behind as an elegant afterthought.

The press line stammered as he walked away. "Mr. Reiss, can you confirm—?" "Is the leak—?" but he gave them nothing they could use. Only the back of his neck and the low rhythm of polished soles on carbon-tile.

The door closed behind him. The voice in his earpiece surged in to claim the silence.

"That was exceptional. Absolutely perfect. Sir, the walk-off is trending already. We've got influencers calling it 'post-human composure.' This is the narrative control we needed—"

"Sir, we're seeing minor swings in sentiment, but they're self-correcting. You're polling as decisive, unshakable, emotionally evolved—"

Reiss cut the feed.

Silence, finally. Artificial and clean. A room built to his parameters. The air tasted of NDA; the future gagged and stamped.

He walked to the center of his office and stopped.

EX-013 closed the door behind them.