We stayed near the ridge for four more days, afraid to move, afraid not to.
The wind still carried our pulse, but softer now steady, quiet.
For the first time in weeks, the Adaptive Protocol didn’t feel like a cage around the planet.
It felt like… breath.
Kira sat cross-legged beside the fire, tracing patterns in the dirt.
Every time her fingertip completed a loop, the mark glowed faintly blue.
She wasn’t even touching the handheld monitor.
“See that?” she said. “I can do it without trying now.”
“That’s not good,” I muttered. “It means the network recognizes you.”
“Or it recognizes us,” she said. “Two frequencies, one signal.”
---
Thirteen.
Neither of us spoke for a full minute.
“Resonances,” Kira said finally. “Meaning… more anchors?”
“Not anchors,” I corrected, feeling
