No one in the hearing chamber moved when the Director entered.
That was not obedience. It was the body understanding that if anyone made the wrong motion too quickly, the room might become something far less controlled than a hearing. Fang could feel the pressure of that stillness in his shoulders, in the back of his neck, in the way Wolf stood with one foot angled and his blade held low enough to be defensive but high enough to end an argument if one became necessary.
The Director did not hurry. He walked to the centre of the chamber with the calm of a man who had spent years believing the shape of a room changed when he entered it. His dark coat was unadorned, but the people around him shifted all the same. Aven Myre looked as though they had just been forcibly reminded of rank. One of the security officers straightened. The other looked directly at Voss, then away again as if uncertain where authority now lived.
