CHAPTER 129 — THE WEIGHT THAT REMAINS
The first mistake people made was believing the system would settle once the loud voices were removed.
The second was assuming silence meant peace.
Elena understood the difference before dawn.
She felt it in the way reports no longer arrived in clusters, but individually—each one deliberate, each one carrying the unmistakable weight of someone choosing to be seen. No shielding language. No collective phrasing. Names attached. Signatures intact.
Responsibility had stopped traveling in groups.
It moved alone now.
She stood by the tall window in the east wing as the sky lightened, watching the city stretch awake beneath her. The lights dimmed one by one, not all at once, but unevenly—some neighborhoods slower, some faster. No coordination. No single rhythm.
That, too, was a sign.
Fragmentation was no longer theoretical. It was lived.
And living systems, she knew, did not collapse neatly.
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