The first sign was chalk.
Aurelia noticed it just past dawn, half-erased by dust at the base of a stone marker along the eastern descent. A simple mark—two short lines crossing a longer one—easy to miss, easier to dismiss as meaningless.
Except the bond beneath her skin tightened.
Not in warning.
In recognition.
She stopped.
Seris, walking a few paces ahead, turned. "What is it?"
Aurelia crouched, brushing dust aside with careful fingers.
"They've started," she said.
"Who?" Lio asked, coming closer.
"Everyone," Aurelia replied.
The symbol wasn't commanded. It wasn't a declaration. It was something far more dangerous to authority.
Coordination.
By midmorning, they saw three more.
Carved shallowly into bark. Scratched beneath an overhang. Etched where paths crossed and then deliberately diverged. Each one different enough to avoid repetition, similar enough to speak the same quiet language.
"They're not copying you," Seris observed. "They're translating you."
