Page 87 of Pocket Wife

I face the officer. “The tribunal is watching. So are the settlements you threatened yesterday.”

The officer’s visor angles toward the hovering screens. “That changes nothing.”

“It changes who hears you lie.”

Rethan’s hand moves once near his side, not touching me. Warning. Approval. Maybe both.

Adjudicator Salo’s voice crackles over the slate. “Helix personnel, identify the specific environmental failure requiring immediate intervention.”

The officer does not answer.

The engineer touches the control panel.

The cistern stones give a low, ugly tremor.

I forget pain. Forget cameras. Forget the tribunal’s blue light.

I step forward.

Rethan moves with me, not stopping me this time.

“Shut it down,” I say.

The officer blocks my path. “Stand back.”

“No.”

“You are escalating this encounter.”

“You brought ships to our water.”

Behind the officer, the handwheel shifts by a fraction. The three-dot mark carved into the metal catches the morning light.

I see, suddenly, what Helix sees.

Not a relic.

A weak point.

If they damage the cover, they can call the original water clause unstable. If they disturb the reserve, they can claim resident custody has failed. If panic turns to violence, they can hand the tribunal a reason to call the valley unsafe.

No weapons.

No heroics.

Witness.

I turn away from the officer and face the valley.

“Name the cistern,” I call.

For one stunned second, no one answers.

Then Samuel steps forward. “North common cistern. First water reserve. Hartwell eastern fields, water share seven.”

Celia raises her chin. “Bakery draw, drought months, twelve loaves per household when the river ran low.”

Nara’s voice shakes but holds. “Clinic emergency tank. Pediatric transport prep. My son drank from that reserve last winter.”