The fracture did not announce itself.It arrived disguised as routine.John noticed it when three districts submitted identical reports within the same minute, same phrasing, same risk assessment, same conclusion reached by supposedly independent councils.Consensus moved that fast only when something else was moving faster underneath it.Celine caught it next. Her console was back on now, but stripped down, running passive checks instead of control loops. “This language,” she said, pulling the reports into alignment. “They did not coordinate publicly.”Elias leaned in. “Then they coordinated privately.”“Yes,” John said. “And quietly.”Rita scanned the surrounding streets from the overlook. Nothing obvious. No crowds. No agitation. Just a city learning how to carry its own weight and occasionally leaning too hard in one direction.“That external signal,” Morgan said. “This feels like it.”John nodded. “It learned faster than expected.”Kael’s voice joined them, sharper than it had be

The backlash did not look like rebellion.That unsettled John more than shouting ever could.By midday, the city had split along quieter lines. Not for or against the framework. Not loyalists versus dissenters. The divide was subtler.Those willing to sign.And those who refused to be named.John watched it unfold from a mid-level observation deck overlooking three districts stitched together by necessity rather than design. Supply convoys moved again. Clinics stabilized. The crisis passed.The memory did not.Rita stood beside him, arms folded tight. “They are angry at the wrong people.”“Yes,” John said. “That is unavoidable.”Celine’s console pulsed softly. She did not touch it. “The coordinators who signed are being pressured. Not threatened. Questioned. Over and over.”Morgan scoffed. “Because now everyone knows who to blame if it goes wrong next time.”“And who to thank if it goes right,” Elias added.“That part never lasts,” Morgan replied.Kael’s voice cut in. “I am seeing a p