He paused. A number floated in his mind, heavy and solid.
"There are rumors of a continuation," the Council droned. "The production mills are turning. Is the count final?" the rookie tv series number of seasons episodes
Elias looked at the title card one last time. He paused
The screen faded to black as the recording light clicked off. The numbers were written down, safe in the archives, but in the quiet of the room, Elias could still hear the phantom sound of a police radio, dispatching units into the Los Angeles night, counting the moments, counting the seasons, refusing to clock out. "The production mills are turning
"The episode count," the Council demanded, growing impatient. "Will it rise?"
The old console television sat in the corner of the arbitration room like a tired sentinel. It was an artifact, a thick-backed reliquary in an age of paper-thin screens, but Elias needed it. He needed the static. He needed the weight.