The night did not bring calm. It brought accounting. Fires burned lower, reduced to glowing scars across the city, but voices carried farther in the dark. Arguments echoed through broken streets.People gathered in clusters some to help, some to grieve, some to decide who they were angry at now that the system was gone. Rayyan felt it everywhere. Not as power. As weight.He sat on the steps of a half-collapsed transit hub, elbows braced on his knees, watching a group argue under a flickering lamp. Miriam stood nearby, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with the quiet vigilance of someone who knew danger didn’t always announce itself.“They’re forming sides,” Rayyan murmured.Miriam nodded. “Humans do that when the ground won’t stop moving.” A raised voice cut through the air. “You can’t just let everyone decide everything!”“That’s how people get hurt!”“That’s how the wrong people win!”Rayyan closed his eyes briefly. “That used to be my argument.”Miriam looked at him. “And now?”“And

Morning arrived without permission. Not clean. Not hopeful. Just inevitable. Gray light crept over the city, revealing what night had hidden: burned facades, exhausted bodies slumped against walls, hands still gripping tools they hadn’t put down.Smoke lingered low, turning sunrise into something bruised and dim. Rayyan sat on the curb where he’d ended the night, back aching, eyes burning from more than smoke.He hadn’t slept. Neither had Miriam. They’d traded silence in fragments watching people work, argue, reconcile, drift apart. Survival was louder in daylight.A woman screamed when she found her storefront collapsed. A man laughed hysterically when a trapped generator sputtered back to life. Someone started crying because the water finally ran again.No system logged it. No Archive recorded it. But Rayyan felt it anyway. Not as command. As accumulation. “You’re shaking,” Miriam said quietly.He looked down. His hands trembled fine, constant. “I think my body’s finally figured out

The vote was scheduled for nightfall. That alone told Rayyan everything. Not after rest. Not after grief. After exhaustion when people were most willing to trade agency for relief.He stood on a rooftop overlooking the plaza, the city stretched beneath him in fractured geometry. Fires were mostly out now. Lights flickered back on in patches. Order, improvised and uneven, was reasserting itself.Miriam joined him, handing over a cup of lukewarm water. “They’re calling it a coordination council,” she said. “Temporary. Emergency-only. Rotating seats.”Rayyan snorted softly. “Every cage is temporary,” he said. “Until someone gets used to it.”Below them, banners were already going up clean, deliberate symbols painted hastily but confidently. People needed something to look at while they waited.Symbols were efficient that way. Iseul appeared from the stairwell, breathless.“It’s spreading faster than here,” he said. “Other cities are already copying the model. Some are asking for… guidanc

The meeting was not called. It happened. Rayyan noticed it only after the circle was already forming people drifting toward one another in the shell of a collapsed transit hub, drawn by exhaustion more than purpose.No banners. No raised voices. Just bodies settling where there was space to sit. Some were responders. Some were citizens. Some were angry enough that they hadn’t trusted themselves to go home yet.Miriam leaned against a cracked pillar nearby, watching without interfering. Iseul hovered at the edge like a ghost unsure whether he was allowed to occupy physical space.Rayyan stood apart. Not excluded. Uncentered. A woman spoke first not loudly. “We can’t keep doing this blind,” she said, rubbing soot from her hands. “No system. No anchor. Just… guessing.”A man across from her shook his head. “The system guessed too. It just hid the cost.” Murmurs followed. Agreement. Disagreement. The sound of people discovering that talking was harder without a script.Rayyan felt the ech