"Whatever you do, do not blink," Nari whispered, gripping her sister's wrist hard enough to leave marks.
Rumi, being Rumi, blinked immediately, purely to see what would happen.
Floor 9 opened into a hall so long that the far torches shrank to a single faint star. Two hundred and eleven judges lined the walls in tiers, every robe carved to its last careful fold.
"Two hundred and eleven, like Clever counted," Hajin murmured, "every last one of them is facing us."
"The plaque is a warning, Boss," Aria said from his shoulder, "the Court does not move while witnessed, the converse is strongly implied."
Leaning toward her sister with relish, Rumi whispered, "So the hats move when nobody's watching, I love it, it's a party game with teeth."
Above the entrance a plaque read, in letters worn smooth by chisels, THE COURT DOES NOT MOVE WHILE WITNESSED. Beneath it the judges stood with gavels raised, their stone hats all tilted at exactly the same severe angle.
