"I'm not here to debut," she said. "I'm here to decommission."

Ted finally appeared, descending a staircase made of a single, seamless slab of obsidian. He was smaller than she expected. Frail. His eyes, however, were not. They were camera lenses—literal, whirring shutters that clicked as they focused on her.

She said nothing. That was her brand. In a world of screaming influencers, her silence was a velvet knife.