Porter’s opening spiel was short and to the point before he got to the goods. They didn’t have to wait long. “I would like to enter this into the record.”

Cora couldn’t see the printouts he was holding up, but she knew what they were photographs of. The glass in the conference room Ampersand had shattered and re-formed almost three months ago.

“Can you tell the committee what happened on the morning of February 2, 2008?” asked the chairman.

“I requested that the amygdaline AG-ETI-046 ‘Jude Atheatos’ accompany the army intelligence unit to the landing site near Temecula, California,” said Porter. “Jude Atheatos did respond with an act of violence that damaged federal property, shattering every window in sight, then using his remote electromagnetic manipulation capabilities—what is informally described as ‘telekinesis’—to reinstate the pieces of glass in a matter of seconds and using incredible remote heat to fuse the glass back into place.”

“That’s not what happened,” she whispered.

Kaveh shot her a “not so loud” side-eye. “What?”

“He did not request Ampersand go to Temecula; he told him he had to go and he had no choice. Like specifically said, ‘This isn’t a request,’ those were his exact words. That was when he broke the glass. Ampersand was saying, ‘You can’t make me,’ not lording his power for the hell of it.”

“You can see where a guy like Porter wouldn’t appreciate the difference, yeah?”

“Not all communication is verbal,” Porter continued. “This was a form of communication, and it was unmistakable. Jude Atheatos was communicating that he had great power, and he would use that power in opposition to the wishes of the American government. I have no doubt the amount of power he used was a trifle amount compared to his full capabilities.”

Porter’s testimony didn’t last long; only six senators took their turn, with the rest of them ceding their time before his session ended. It was as if Porter had been scanning the room for her when they locked eyes, and it seemed to her the first time that he’d ever looked at her intentionally. Like her mere existence was an act of emasculation, and he was going to do everything in his power to avenge the indignity.

But Brigadier General Wesley Porter was not Tuesday’s star witness—that honor went to Jano Miranda. When they reconvened after lunch, it was Jano’s time to shine. She’d exchanged a look with him when she arrived in the chamber, and from that alone, she knew that this was nothing like the debate on MSNBC. They weren’t talking heads being given a nominal fee to discuss a topic; Pershing Square had changed him. This wasn’t a political game to him anymore; this was existential, and she was working for the enemy.