Micah looked toward the control booth.
Celeste gave him a thumbs-up.
He began.
“What you’re looking at right now is not a movie.”
The audience became quiet.
Micah explained that the system was calculating the visible star field in real time based on position, date, and viewing direction. He changed one coordinate.
The stars above them moved.
A collective sound passed through the dome.
Micah forgot the lobby.
He changed the date by five thousand years.
Constellations slowly distorted as stellar motion accumulated.
He moved the virtual viewpoint away from Earth.
The familiar sky dissolved.
Then he rebuilt it from another position inside the Milky Way.
For seven minutes, Micah did exactly what he had done during hundreds of quiet hours alone with a laptop.
He showed people something.
When he finished, the applause lasted nearly a minute.
Micah hated standing beneath it.
Jonathan knew.
He rescued him by beginning the question period immediately.
A donor asked whether Micah planned to study astrophysics.
“Computer science.”
Another asked which university he hoped to attend.
“I haven’t decided.”
A third asked what had been hardest about the project.
Micah thought.
“Getting different systems to agree about what the same information means.”
Jonathan looked at him.
The answer felt larger than code.
Afterward, donors surrounded Micah.
Several praised him.
One apologized for what happened in the lobby despite having no involvement.
Another offered an internship before learning whether Bellweather had rules about directly recruiting minors from donor events.
Micah remained polite.
Then an older Black man approached.
He introduced himself as Walter Greene, an electrical engineer who had spent thirty years working in aerospace.
“I saw what happened before the presentation.”
Micah’s expression tightened.
Walter noticed.
“I’m not going to tell you it made you stronger.”
Micah looked up.
“Thank you.”
“I hated when people told me that.”
Walter smiled.
“Bad experiences do not become gifts because you survive them.”
Micah relaxed slightly.
Then Walter nodded toward the dome.
“What you built was excellent before anybody stepped on your badge.”
That was the first compliment that evening Micah remembered.
Renee arrived at Bellweather at 9:18 p.m.
She still wore navy hospital scrubs beneath her winter coat.
Mrs. Price had called her.
Renee left work the moment coverage became available and drove across town trying not to imagine more than she knew.
Micah was sitting inside Jonathan’s office when she arrived.
She saw the bruise first.
“Who touched you?”
Micah stood.
“Mom.”
“Who?”
Jonathan rose from behind his desk.
“Ms. Carter, I’m Jonathan Mercer.”
“I know who you are.”
She pointed toward Micah’s neck.
“What happened to my son?”