Cruzer stood quietly, letting the breath of the world fill him. Every heartbeat, every vibration from the earth, the stars, and the people around him seemed to move in tandem—a vast, intricate symphony without a conductor, without a single hand trying to steer it.
The Accord had become real, not through edict or design, but through surrender: the willing yielding of control to something larger, something shared. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and felt it—the myriad possibilities branching outward like rivers from a single spring.
Behind him, Charlotte was already speaking with a pair of newcomers—older ones, by the look of them, faces lined not with despair but with determination sharpened by years. Zaya was laughing with the Obscura twins, the infectious sound drawing more into the warmth of the gathering. Marin's fingers danced across a portable terminal, but for once his urgency was excitement, not anxiety.
