The city was humming.
Not the quiet, harmonic hum of Novaheim, that was always polished and measured. This was a living kind of noise. Traffic lights blinked with irritation. Drones buzzed overhead, dodging flocks of birds. Voices layered across each other with laughter, arguments and music leaking from storefronts.
Sawl walked through it all, shoulders straight, uniform sharp. His presence turned heads. Earth officials moved aside. Civilians paused. He was the image of order.
But inside, something strained against the rhythm.
The dream, the garden, the man beneath the willow, it hadn't left him. It had rewired something. Not enough to stop him. But enough to change how he looked at everything.
He was here to oversee integration protocols, merging Novaheim's optimization systems with Earth's existing infrastructure. Data, behavior mapping, regional compliance scores. It was routine. Necessary. Another step in restoring order.
He entered the East District tech hub through a corridor of frosted glass and polished chrome. It could've passed for a Novaheim outpost, if not for the clutter, the coffee mugs, the sticky notes everywhere and the real air.
"Commander Osei," a voice greeted. A systems engineer, mid-40s, casual jacket, eyes sharp behind thin glasses. He extended a tablet. "Latest stability metrics. Slight flux in emotional resistance zones. Nothing that can't be normalized."
Sawl took the device and scrolled.
"We're seeing pushback in the South Quadrants," the man added. "Cultural data pockets. Faith groups, local organizers. Not hostile, just… persistent."
Sawl nodded, noting the trend. "What about containment?"
"Minimal resistance. Most fold into the dominant signal in time."
He tapped the screen, pausing.
"This line… it was revised." Sawl zoomed in. A data block timestamp didn't match the report.
The engineer didn't flinch. "Yeah. It happens. Sometimes the system sanitizes outliers. You know, for clarity."
"On whose directive?"
The man hesitated, then smiled lightly.
"Let me ask you something, Commander." He leaned in, voice casual but quiet. "You ever wonder if they're not giving you the whole picture?"
Sawl froze.
"Excuse me?"
"The data. The numbers. What you're allowed to see."
He gestured toward the console.
"That version? It's curated. I've seen what gets deleted before your teams arrive."
Sawl's fingers tightened on the tablet. The hum of the room sharpened.
"Is there something you're suggesting?" he asked evenly.
The engineer tilted his head.
"Just that you seem like someone who wants the truth. And if you're looking for it… you might have to stop waiting for it to be handed to you."
He took the tablet back, calm as ever, and returned to his workbench.
Sawl stared after him.
He left the hub without saying another word.
Later that night, he walked the perimeter of the facility alone. Earth was loud, yes, but not without beauty. Neon lights blurred against puddles. Somewhere in the distance, someone was singing, off-key and unfiltered.
He passed a street vendor packing up for the night. They nodded at him, eyes curious but not afraid.
He didn't go far.
Just far enough to sit on a concrete bench under a flickering lamppost. The air was thick with smog, but real. It filled his lungs like memory.
He didn't check his comm. Didn't log a report.
He sat. Quiet.
Above, the sky blinked with satellites and artificial stars.
His hand slipped into his coat. He pulled out the now-wilted white flower from the garden.
He held it for a long time.
And for the first time since landing, he whispered into the night:
"What else am I not seeing?"
The city didn't answer.
But something in the silence did.