Chapter Content
In Potsdam, in the royal palace, old men argued in a room built to make arguments feel small.
The Kaiser's office was all dark wood and discipline. A broad oak desk anchored the space like a gun platform, its surface crowded with folded memoranda, sealed folders, and maps that never seemed to stay folded for long. The air held the faint haze of cigar smoke, and beneath it the sharper smells of ink, leather, and polish—an old Prussian perfume of authority.
Behind heavy curtains, winter light slipped through tall windows in pale strips, falling across a wall-sized map of Europe. Pins marked borders that never stayed still. Threads and notes clung to places that everyone pretended were permanent.
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