The Observer accepts the birdseed with the solemnity of someone receiving a state gift — fingers closing around Aurora's offering, a single solemn nod exchanged, the treaty sealed in full. Aurora nods back, satisfied. Flavio's wand remains aimed at the Observer's lapel, deeply content with this arrangement. Moving very slowly, with the practiced patience of a seasoned diplomat, the Observer begins to crab-walk backward down the aisle. The wand follows. Aurora follows the wand. The last pew yawns open behind them like a perfectly positioned lifeboat, and with one final theatrical widening of the eyes — the sort that wordlessly announces *this is the most important seat in the building* — the Observer folds themselves in. Flavio clambers up beside them. Aurora claims the armrest with great authority. The ceremony breathes. The organist dials back by half a key. Then Aurora opens her palm, examines the remaining birdseed with a fresh and intensely focused expression, and looks up at the nearest stained-glass window.