Control does not shatter.
It unravels.
⸻
The first thing that follows is not freedom.
It is noise.
Jason feels it ripple through the lattice like static after a lightning strike. Systems that once moved in clean, decisive arcs now stutter, overlap, contradict. Commands conflict. Protocols disagree with themselves. Old safeguards activate without a center to report to.
Nothing explodes.
Everything hesitates.
“They’re still running,” Jason murmurs, eyes hollow as he tracks the chaos. “But without a spine.”
Zane sits on the stone steps outside the sanctum, the heir asleep against his chest, their small body finally relaxed after hours of strain. He does not look at the lattice.
“That’s what happens when authority outlives consent,” he says quietly. “It keeps moving out of habit.”
⸻
