You set Leaf Hall’s CO2 from the tank like a recipe, not like a mood.

The number Imani wants is a plant number: enough for stomata in the light, not a stuffy party. Fans keep the boundary layers from becoming stale coats. The damper to Hearth stays a damper, which is to say mostly shut, with the designed leak that keeps cousins from becoming twins.

GROVE: “Enrichment on. People-side CO2 nominal. Good split.”

Oskar’s painted tomato looks, possibly, smug.

A heat strip chirps. Dust on glass changes how the hall sheds infrared. Condensation beads where a cold pane is losing a fight. Beads are water in the wrong place: on the sky, not in the tray.

Imani: “We can still ruin this with soil we didn’t mix, or with pride. There’s a bin. There’s a checklist.”

The perchlorate bin sits where a tired person could kick it into a tray and call it geology.

You can leave the damper honest and the beds as beds. You can still open the connecting damper wide, because sharing air feels like fairness, and fairness is a poster, not a recipe.