The Review Room
A long table made of dark wood, scarred from years of use. Along its length, numbered brass clips hold documents — some with green check marks pressed into the margin, some with red crosses, most still waiting. The clips run from #1 at the near end to wherever the current count has reached. Empty clips extend past the last document, ready for what comes next. The wall behind the table is frosted glass. Through it you can see shadows moving — figures working at terminals, their keystrokes visible as faint amber pulses. You can't read what they're writing from here, only that they're writing. The glass vibrates faintly when someone pushes code.