Fear does not announce itself.
It waits until you are already tired of being brave.
⸻
The night after Zane’s refusal, the world does not punish them.
It whispers.
Jason senses it first while the heir sleeps, their small breath steady against Zane’s chest. The lattice hums in a way that is not strained, not narrow, not open.
Focused.
“Zane,” Jason says quietly. “We’ve lost variance.”
Zane doesn’t look up. “Explain.”
Jason swallows. “The paths are still there. All of them. But the probabilities shifted.”
Zane’s jaw tightens. “Toward what.”
“Toward outcomes that avoid… visibility.”
⸻
The first tremor hits just before dawn.
Not a quake.
A rumor.
A village at the far edge reports movement in the dark. No attack. No breach. Just shapes where there shouldn’t be shapes and a sense
