The morning briefing in the central hall ran exactly twenty minutes. Every report finished on time. No one raised their voice. Atlas sat at the head of the table and felt nothing.
The hybrids had handled the harvest, the water systems, and the new housing units without a single delay.
Even the arguments about supply distribution ended with polite nods and quick compromises shaped by Tapestry threads.
He rubbed his thumb over the Anchor mark on his wrist. It responded slower these days, like a tool that had grown too familiar.
Jessa walked past him after the meeting, carrying a stack of updated ledgers. "Everything's running at ninety-seven percent again," she said. "We should celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" Atlas asked. "Another perfect week?"
She shrugged and kept walking.
That afternoon Atlas wandered the outer yards. A group of younger people had gathered near the old training grounds.
