The pins were no longer optional.
No decree announced it.
No bulletin declared it mandatory.
They simply appeared on more collars each morning.
White enamel for volunteers. Amber enamel for labor stewards. A small stamped circle at the center of each, denoting alignment certification.
Children wore them first.
They stood taller when they did.
A boy near the fountain seam polished his white pin with the edge of his sleeve until it shone.
"Director Halven says symbols help people remember," he told a younger girl.
"Remember what?" she asked.
"That we belong."
The girl nodded and adjusted her own amber badge.
Kael watched them with a feeling he could not name.
Belonging had become visible.
Measured.
Pinned.
At the grain booth, a woman without a pin hesitated.
"I didn't pick one up," she said quietly.
The baker tilted his head.
"They're distributed after alignment review," he replied.
"I passed."
"Then collect it."
She glanced toward the checkpoint, where a small table now displayed sorted pins by tier.
White. Amber. Limited blue for administrative stewards.
A volunteer stood beside the table, smiling.
"Registration first," the volunteer said pleasantly. "It's quick."
Seven seconds.
The line moved.
A man near the fountain seam spoke to his neighbor.
"At least now someone is in charge."
The neighbor nodded.
"It's better this way."
The phrase felt rehearsed.
Kael approached the pin table without thinking.
The volunteer looked up brightly.
"Seal?"
"I'm not here for a pin," Kael replied.
The volunteer frowned slightly, as if confused by the idea.
"Everyone should have one," the volunteer said.
"Why?"
"So we know who's aligned."
The answer was simple.
Uncomplicated.
Unquestioned.
Kael stepped back.
He noticed how many collars gleamed.
How few did not.
Lyria stood beneath the slogan.
"They're proud," she said.
"Yes."
"They believe it protects them."
"Yes."
"And maybe it does."
Kael did not answer.
Because the square was smoother than ever.
Seven seconds.
No containment events.
No visible harm.
Just enamel catching the light.
A child ran past with his white pin flashing.
He looked proud.
And that frightened Kael more than any riot ever had.