The air inside the estate was dense, not with tension, but with a tangible electricity of anticipation. The past days had shifted something fundamental in the architecture's rhythm, like a tectonic plate slowly but inevitably moving beneath the surface, setting off tremors that none could ignore.
Aria sat at the heart of the strategy room, surrounded by holographic projections that flickered with real-time data and social feedback loops. The town hall from the previous night had opened floodgates of raw opinion, revealing cracks even in this carefully designed system. But it also revealed something far more valuable—a growing collective hunger for genuine power through consent rather than coercion.
Her fingers tapped a rapid Morse on the console, weaving data threads into emerging patterns. "The foundation of this movement," she said, voice calm but firm, "is no longer just technology. It's trust. We have to build pillars that can bear that weight."
