The polished chrome surface of the table reflected Elias's intense gaze. He leaned forward, the scent of ozone and something subtly floral – a custom-blended pheromone, Anya guessed – clinging to him. "The council has reviewed your application, Anya. They’ve… taken note of your… unique perspective." His words were carefully chosen, each syllable weighted with unspoken meaning.

Anya swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The "unique perspective" referred to her art, her visceral depictions of the Naturals – the unenhanced – their struggles, their resilience, their defiant beauty in a world obsessed with perfection. Art that the Council, the governing body of Neo-London, officially tolerated, but which clearly unsettled them.