The peace was an illusion.
I stood in the center of the war room, the network pulsing in the back of my mind. The unified consciousness was stable. The fragments were integrated. The Architects were at peace. The darkness had been absorbed.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
"James," Freya said, appearing in the doorway. "There's something you need to see."
I followed her to the lab. She pulled up a holographic display. The network was a web of light, its connections pulsing with energy. But there was something new—a subtle pattern, almost invisible, woven into the fabric of the network.
"What is it?" I asked.
Freya shook her head. "I don't know. I've been analyzing it for days. It's not a corruption. It's not an attack. It's like a signature. A marker."
"A m
