The city did not choose Elyon.
It tested him.
That was worse.
By morning, the streets carried a low, restless energy. People moved slower, watching signs and screens with a new kind of focus. Not trust. Not anger.
Suspicion.
Elyon felt it the moment he stepped outside. The air seemed heavier, not with pressure from above, but with glances that lingered a second too long.
Rin noticed it immediately. "They're tracking reaction now," they said. "Not events."
Elyon nodded. "They're watching how people respond when I'm nearby."
They walked through a residential block where small shops were opening late. A power crew worked on a junction box at the corner, tools spread neatly on the ground. Everything looked routine.
Then a shopkeeper muttered loudly, "Hope nothing goes wrong today."
Another answered, "As long as he doesn't stay long."
Elyon stopped walking.
Rin's jaw tightened. "They're planting the idea."
"Yes," Elyon said quietly. "Blame doesn't need proof. Just timing."
They moved on.
At a transit gate, the scanner delayed for two seconds. Nothing serious. Just enough for someone to notice.
A man sighed. "Ever since yesterday…"
Someone else finished the thought. "Yeah."
Elyon felt something cold settle in his chest.
This was new.
Not accusation.
Not fear.
Association.
Rin leaned close. "They're letting small failures happen near you."
"And fixing them when I leave," Elyon said. "So the story writes itself."
The band on his wrist pulsed faintly beneath his sleeve.
—ATTRIBUTION MODEL: ACTIVE—
Elyon clenched his fist. "So this is the next shape."
Rin nodded. "If they can't make you a solution, they'll make you a problem."
They took a longer route through a market street to break visibility. Elyon kept his head down, pace even. He did not engage. He did not correct anyone.
Still, the whispers followed.
"He was here earlier."
"Then why did it break?"
"I knew it."
None of it was loud.
That was the danger.
At midday, the city escalated carefully.
A minor outage hit a clinic—nothing critical, but enough to delay appointments. It happened ten minutes after Elyon passed the block.
Rin stared at the screen showing the notice. "That was deliberate."
"Yes," Elyon said. "But small enough to deny."
A woman near the entrance snapped, "Why does this always happen when people like him show up?"
Elyon turned.
Rin caught his arm. "Don't."
Elyon closed his eyes.
This was the moment they wanted.
If he spoke, he became defensive.
If he fixed it, he confirmed relevance.
If he stayed, the pattern hardened.
He stepped away.
They climbed to an upper walkway overlooking the district. Elyon leaned on the rail, breathing slowly.
"They're outsourcing blame," he said.
Rin nodded. "And if people accept it—"
"They won't need enforcement," Elyon finished.
The band warmed slightly.
Not command.
Pressure.
—INTERVENTION THRESHOLD: RECOMMENDED—
Elyon ignored it.
Time passed.
The clinic outage resolved on its own. A notice updated. Apologies followed.
But the damage remained.
Not in infrastructure.
In conversation.
Rin watched the crowd disperse. "They didn't fix the idea."
"No," Elyon said. "They fed it."
As evening fell, Elyon felt the weight shift again.
The blame stopped sticking.
Not everywhere.
But enough.
A group near a transit stop argued quietly.
"This makes no sense," someone said. "He didn't touch anything."
"Yeah," another replied. "Stuff breaks all the time."
The conversation moved on.
Rin let out a slow breath. "It's unstable."
"Yes," Elyon said. "Because it's false."
False blame needed constant maintenance.
And maintenance cost attention.
The system adjusted.
Not with bigger failures.
With spacing.
Problems occurred farther from Elyon now. Delays happened blocks away. Power flickers no longer aligned cleanly with his presence.
"They're losing resolution," Rin said.
Elyon nodded. "They pushed too hard."
Night came.
They stopped on a quiet rooftop, city lights uneven below. Elyon sat on the concrete, back against a vent.
"This was always the risk," Rin said. "That people would turn on you."
Elyon looked up at the sky, where nothing could be seen but haze. "People didn't turn. The system tried to turn them."
"And?"
Elyon thought of the conversations he had overheard. The doubt. The corrections. The way blame slid off instead of settling.
"And people corrected each other," Elyon said. "Not all. But enough."
Rin smiled faintly. "You let the lie stand long enough for it to fail."
Elyon nodded. "Lies need defenders. Truth just needs time."
The band pulsed again.
Weaker.
Uncertain.
—ATTRIBUTION CONFIDENCE: LOW—
Elyon looked down at it. "You don't know what I am anymore."
The band did not answer.
It couldn't.
Because the city no longer agreed on who to blame.
And without agreement, control slipped.
Far above, unseen, models shed weight.
Correlation maps blurred.
Attribution loops broke.
Confidence thresholds dipped.
Blame had started to drift—
and drifting blame could not be weaponized easily.
Elyon stood up, feeling tired but steady.
"They'll try something else," Rin said.
"Yes," Elyon replied. "They always do."
Rin looked at him. "Are you ready?"
Elyon gazed out over the city, where lights flickered imperfectly, honestly.
"I'm not here to win," he said. "I'm here to make sure they can't decide everything for us."
They walked back down into the streets.
Pressure would return.
But blame, once it lost its anchor,
was hard to aim again.
And for the first time since the alley,
the city was learning that not every problem
needed a face to point at.